We all know Wal-Mart is the place to go in the South to get an interesting look at the population. And let me tell you, my last visit did NOT disappoint! My mom and I went on (gasp) a Saturday, which I have decided is when the best freaks come out to play.
Our trip began, as always, by trying to find a parking place. This is only possible on Saturdays by parking out in never-never land with the trucks and cars that decide to take up like three spaces because heaven forbid they park like a regular person and someone exhale on their car and damage the paint job that wasn't that great to begin with. Or, if you are lucky enough to find one within walking distance of the door you had better be the size of a beanpole because the two cars parked on either side of you were soccer moms trying to drive the biggest SUV they can afford but never learned to drive, and therefore didn't even think about trying to get inside the lines. So we park and make our way to the door, only to pass by the ultimate USC car on our way. Garnet in color, with every Gamecock sticker ever made decorating the little Scion body. That would have been enough to warrant a second glance in itself, but we ARE in SC, so we can't stop there. Cocky dangling from the rearview. Oh, yeah. Parked so all can see in the Handicapped space (OVER the line, of course) RIGHT in front. And the icing on the cake? The redneck flag plus bald eagle paint job on the entire back window. Classy, I tell you. Classy.
We make it inside, past whatever organization is begging for money that day and past the greeter who is too busy fiddling with her walkie-talkie to actually greet, or have some buggies pulled out of the back of the buggy area. That's okay. I can get one. Of course, lucky me, I get the one with the front wheel that spins incessantly and the back wheel with gum stuck to it so that not only does the buggy pull to the right, there is a constant bump-squeak noise when it moves. Let the shopping begin!
I'll spare you the details of wardrobe. You can go to People of Wal-Mart for that. I will tell you about the couple I saw (and heard), though. Older gentleman riding a scooter, holding his cane, looking absolutely miserable. Then I heard/saw the wife and understood. Woman was one her cell phone YELLING at some poor customer service person on the other end. It was very hard to understand her, though. Apparently teeth aid in speech. Just sayin'. Apparently the phone was not doing something she though it ought to do and someone at the dang store told her to call this dang (I'm sure you can infer the expletives here) number and someone could tell her what the hookie she had to do to make the dang phone do what she wanted it to. Lovely. Thankfully I did not have the boys with me. So as this dang woman was ranting and raving in her mumbled state she would randomly grab items off the shelf and throw them back behind her, into the basket of her husband's ride. She would then grab the basket and drag, yes drag, her husband, scooter and all, on down the aisle. Now I know the things are electric, so why she felt the need to manually pull him along is beyond me. I smiled at the man as they passed me, unable to ignore the pleading look in his eyes. Poor guy. But hey, he married the dang woman, right?
Time to check out. My mom and I meet up in front of the three, no wait, it's Saturday, four, registers open. She takes one, I take one. And what do you know? I get in the line that stops because the card machine doesn't work! The flashy light goes on and the page is made for the manager/supervisor. It is then I realize I have forgotten one item, and of course it is at the very back of the store. Seeing that the woman in front of me (who is now being accused of messing up the machine) has two strapping young boys with her, I politely ask if one of them can go grab the item for me. She is very nice and sends one running off eagerly. And we wait. And wait. Finally a woman with magic keys leaves her conversation with another employee doing nothing and begins her very slow journey over to our register. The other employee, seeing the massive line, hurries over and, not turning on her light, offers to help "the next in line." The gentleman behind me puffs his last sigh of irritation and hurries over. Meanwhile the supervisor is still working her way over to us. Finally, after having the situation explained not once but twice to her, she looks at the nice customer and says, "you know, if you put gift cards over the deactivator area here they won't work," Well, seeing as how that is on the other side of the counter and the employee did that, I don't think that's the problem. But she will hear none of that. "Whatever." A turn of the key, the push of about a million buttons (because you know she entered the number WRONG the first two times) and the woman is done. She sends her other son to go find my missing whipping cream and his brother. And, finally, she goes after all three. I apologize to the man behind me, who thankfully has a sense of humor about the whole thing.
As I am finally checking out I spot my mom, waiting patiently, with a confused expression on her face. She tells me as we are leaving of the young man she was observing during my ordeal at the checkout. Young guy, obviously high as a kite. Nothing unusual here, we are in Wal-Mart. He is wearing a multi-colored hat with dreadlocks hanging down his back. Yep, seen plenty of those. But here's the kicker. On the front of his hat the had the head on one of those sock-monkey stuffed animals. Wow. Where's the camera when you need it. I did see him leaving, complete with a bag full of chips, popcorn, and sodas. Munchies.
Wal-Mart is exhausting. And it seems to be the type of place where everyone is welcome and everyone comes. I have gotten into couponing more and therefore shop more at grocery stores. I had forgotten just how interesting a place it is. Where else on earth can you see mullets, cut-offs and high heels, pants on the ground, hookers, and drag queens all in the same place? So my question to you is....which came first, the freak, or Wally World?
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Lost you before I found you....
13 For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother’s womb. (Psalm 139:13)
Sometimes it seems that in the midst of joy our painful pasts can sneak up and bite us. I think that sometimes these "interruptions" can serve us well. The older I get the more I hope for them to be opportunities for me to rely on God more and stress less.
Recently my husband and I learned that we will soon have a niece or nephew! My brother-in-law and his wife will be having a baby in mid-September. Amidst the excitement of a new baby coming that I don't have to wake up with came an unexpected rush of memories and pain that I never expected. It has taken me a while to write this down because I have gone through some pretty intense emotions over the last week and wanted to be sure of what I say. I hope it makes sense and that no one is offended by what I might say.
In November of 2007 I found out I was pregnant. Derrell and i were thrilled, but also kinda surprised. While we had begun trying neither one of us expected that I was already pregnant. I called my doctor, made the appointment, and the pregnancy was confirmed. An U/S was done just to rule out ectopic and to verify there was a viable pregnancy. My mom was with me and we were able to see my little bean on the screen. It was no surprise when we could not find a heartbeat...I was VERY early along, only about 5 weeks (3 weeks gestational). An appointment was made to follow up in a week or two to check the heartbeat.
The next few days were strange. I was VERY sick, which is supposed to be good, right? But something in me told me that I would not meet this child. Something didn't fit, didn't feel right, didn't seem...true. Unlike my first child, I felt no immediate connection to this unborn soul inside me. I tried to resign myself to the fact that I was going to lose this baby.
I was in a women's Bible study at the time, and at our next meeting we watched a video about Psalm 139. Don't quote me, but I think it was Kay Arthur. Anyway, she began talking about the miracle of birth, the miracle of motherhood, and I began to tear up. The sadness of what I felt was going to happen was overwhelming. Then she said something that I'll never forget. She said that we as women have an awesome opportunity that men will never have. Something that God has given to women that is truly amazing. We have the ability to house TWO souls at once, our own and our child's. Wow. She painted a wonderful descriptive picture in our minds of a bare-naked soul placed in our womb. God, with His heavenly knitting needle, knits a body around this precious soul, forming it to be exactly what He wants. Double wow. That picture, that image of soul being present long before the body, gave me such a peace. I can't explain it. God told me in that moment that He already knew this child, even before its little heart would beat. It was already His; he had placed it there in the presence of mine and my husband's love, and He was already taking care of it. I shared my revelations to the other women present and they all tried their best to talk me out of it. They said I was wrong, that surely everything would be fine. But I knew, even more so than before, that this child would never be mine on earth.
Three days later I went to the doctor again. An U/S was done, and I knew when she brought the doctor in what was happening. My heart was in my throat as Dr. Jones patted me on the knee and with tears in her eyes told me, "sweetie, there is no heartbeat."
I'm so glad my mom was with me. Don't get me wrong, I love my husband! But right then, I needed my mom to cry with. I needed her to put her arms around me and weep with me. And she did. The four of us (Dr. Jones, Carrie the U/S tech, my mom, and me) all cried in that little room
I've dealt with many different feelings about this. Guilt for my sadness because I was so early along. Surely it's not as bad as if I had been further along, like others I know. Peace knowing that God had me and that little bean the whole time. Relief that I had not in fact "bonded" with it like I had with Clayton, and would with Christopher. Awe at the providence of God in the whole situation. Anger. Sadness. Irritation with people who either made light of it or went overboard with sympathy. And the what-ifs. Oh, the what-ifs.
But recently the feelings have definitely been more of mourning. I don't think I allowed myself too much of that at the time. I thought I had not been far along in the pregnancy, so it must be easier to deal with. Or at least I convinced myself of that. But the questions are there now that may not have been questions had I been further along. Would it have been a boy or a girl? Would it have had red hair, no hair, blond hair? Would this child have had any birth marks? Would it have had enormous feet like my other two? And again, would it have been a boy or a girl? Would it have been easier to have had a body to hold and say good-bye to, or am I better off not knowing what that child would have felt like in my arms? Am I silly to imagine the remains from my D and C and wonder what was done with them?
And what about that precious little soul? Is it like all the pictures? Do they become little baby angels up in heaven? A nice picture, but I'm a sucker for reality, and I just don't know if that's Biblical or not. I do believe that there is a purpose for these things. A soul, a precious little soul, was inside me, if only for a fleeting moment. What place does it have in God's kingdom? And on my good days I feel EXTREMELY blessed that God thought enough of me to entrust that little one to me while He knitted it into what He needed, even if it wasn't what I thought it was going to be. And I do believe that in some way I will recognize that little soul when i reach Heaven. It must be a great purpose God has for these children. Otherwise the sacrifice, the pain, would not be necessary. God does not intentionally hurt us. He loves us so much, and that knowledge convinces me that these losses for us on earth are for a great gain in heaven.
This is what I must keep telling myself when the questions fill my mind. When I remember that Christmas season that was so painful I wanted to just shut down and hide away. When I remember the tears my husband and I shared, that my mom and I shared, that God and I shared. And then I look at Christopher, born in November of 2008, and cannot imagine life without him. I see purposes all around me for what happened. But all that can never truly take away the pain, the feeling of loss, and the questions.
So that's my story of miscarriage. I have learned that this touches many more women than I imagined. I know women who have lost early, like myself, those who have lost later and had to go through birth, and those who have birthed and lost just moments later. But I think I've decided that time is not a measure of pain or loss. Loss at any stage of pregnancy is loss of life. But we must remember that our earthly loss is His heavenly gain. And oh, what a gain!
I found this song on YouTube. I cried, and you might too. But it puts into words so much of what I and so many other women want to say. Please watch, if you can.
you knit me together in my mother’s womb. (Psalm 139:13)
Sometimes it seems that in the midst of joy our painful pasts can sneak up and bite us. I think that sometimes these "interruptions" can serve us well. The older I get the more I hope for them to be opportunities for me to rely on God more and stress less.
Recently my husband and I learned that we will soon have a niece or nephew! My brother-in-law and his wife will be having a baby in mid-September. Amidst the excitement of a new baby coming that I don't have to wake up with came an unexpected rush of memories and pain that I never expected. It has taken me a while to write this down because I have gone through some pretty intense emotions over the last week and wanted to be sure of what I say. I hope it makes sense and that no one is offended by what I might say.
In November of 2007 I found out I was pregnant. Derrell and i were thrilled, but also kinda surprised. While we had begun trying neither one of us expected that I was already pregnant. I called my doctor, made the appointment, and the pregnancy was confirmed. An U/S was done just to rule out ectopic and to verify there was a viable pregnancy. My mom was with me and we were able to see my little bean on the screen. It was no surprise when we could not find a heartbeat...I was VERY early along, only about 5 weeks (3 weeks gestational). An appointment was made to follow up in a week or two to check the heartbeat.
The next few days were strange. I was VERY sick, which is supposed to be good, right? But something in me told me that I would not meet this child. Something didn't fit, didn't feel right, didn't seem...true. Unlike my first child, I felt no immediate connection to this unborn soul inside me. I tried to resign myself to the fact that I was going to lose this baby.
I was in a women's Bible study at the time, and at our next meeting we watched a video about Psalm 139. Don't quote me, but I think it was Kay Arthur. Anyway, she began talking about the miracle of birth, the miracle of motherhood, and I began to tear up. The sadness of what I felt was going to happen was overwhelming. Then she said something that I'll never forget. She said that we as women have an awesome opportunity that men will never have. Something that God has given to women that is truly amazing. We have the ability to house TWO souls at once, our own and our child's. Wow. She painted a wonderful descriptive picture in our minds of a bare-naked soul placed in our womb. God, with His heavenly knitting needle, knits a body around this precious soul, forming it to be exactly what He wants. Double wow. That picture, that image of soul being present long before the body, gave me such a peace. I can't explain it. God told me in that moment that He already knew this child, even before its little heart would beat. It was already His; he had placed it there in the presence of mine and my husband's love, and He was already taking care of it. I shared my revelations to the other women present and they all tried their best to talk me out of it. They said I was wrong, that surely everything would be fine. But I knew, even more so than before, that this child would never be mine on earth.
Three days later I went to the doctor again. An U/S was done, and I knew when she brought the doctor in what was happening. My heart was in my throat as Dr. Jones patted me on the knee and with tears in her eyes told me, "sweetie, there is no heartbeat."
I'm so glad my mom was with me. Don't get me wrong, I love my husband! But right then, I needed my mom to cry with. I needed her to put her arms around me and weep with me. And she did. The four of us (Dr. Jones, Carrie the U/S tech, my mom, and me) all cried in that little room
I've dealt with many different feelings about this. Guilt for my sadness because I was so early along. Surely it's not as bad as if I had been further along, like others I know. Peace knowing that God had me and that little bean the whole time. Relief that I had not in fact "bonded" with it like I had with Clayton, and would with Christopher. Awe at the providence of God in the whole situation. Anger. Sadness. Irritation with people who either made light of it or went overboard with sympathy. And the what-ifs. Oh, the what-ifs.
But recently the feelings have definitely been more of mourning. I don't think I allowed myself too much of that at the time. I thought I had not been far along in the pregnancy, so it must be easier to deal with. Or at least I convinced myself of that. But the questions are there now that may not have been questions had I been further along. Would it have been a boy or a girl? Would it have had red hair, no hair, blond hair? Would this child have had any birth marks? Would it have had enormous feet like my other two? And again, would it have been a boy or a girl? Would it have been easier to have had a body to hold and say good-bye to, or am I better off not knowing what that child would have felt like in my arms? Am I silly to imagine the remains from my D and C and wonder what was done with them?
And what about that precious little soul? Is it like all the pictures? Do they become little baby angels up in heaven? A nice picture, but I'm a sucker for reality, and I just don't know if that's Biblical or not. I do believe that there is a purpose for these things. A soul, a precious little soul, was inside me, if only for a fleeting moment. What place does it have in God's kingdom? And on my good days I feel EXTREMELY blessed that God thought enough of me to entrust that little one to me while He knitted it into what He needed, even if it wasn't what I thought it was going to be. And I do believe that in some way I will recognize that little soul when i reach Heaven. It must be a great purpose God has for these children. Otherwise the sacrifice, the pain, would not be necessary. God does not intentionally hurt us. He loves us so much, and that knowledge convinces me that these losses for us on earth are for a great gain in heaven.
This is what I must keep telling myself when the questions fill my mind. When I remember that Christmas season that was so painful I wanted to just shut down and hide away. When I remember the tears my husband and I shared, that my mom and I shared, that God and I shared. And then I look at Christopher, born in November of 2008, and cannot imagine life without him. I see purposes all around me for what happened. But all that can never truly take away the pain, the feeling of loss, and the questions.
So that's my story of miscarriage. I have learned that this touches many more women than I imagined. I know women who have lost early, like myself, those who have lost later and had to go through birth, and those who have birthed and lost just moments later. But I think I've decided that time is not a measure of pain or loss. Loss at any stage of pregnancy is loss of life. But we must remember that our earthly loss is His heavenly gain. And oh, what a gain!
I found this song on YouTube. I cried, and you might too. But it puts into words so much of what I and so many other women want to say. Please watch, if you can.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Business Time
My husband and I had the opportunity to go on a marriage retreat last weekend in Flat Rock. We had a great time learning from His word about communication, conflict, and laughter in marriage. We learned about true intimacy, the kind that happens as we spend life together, as we remember the times we've had the the dreams of what is yet to come. We had such a great group there and had a GREAT place to stay! If you and your special one need to get away, this place will set you up! I'll include a link to their site so you can check it out. Mountain Lodge
I think every couple needs a refresher course in love every once in a while. We all get so bogged down with kids, work, money, tax season, laundry, keeping the house clean, and just life in general, not to mention those specific things that each couple deals with uniquely. Sometimes we have to just get away from it all and relax, laugh, and remember why we started this journey in the first place. We were lucky enough, along with another couple, to be able to stay an extra night. We needed it. They needed it. We had a blast just walking around Hendersonville (though the guys would disagree, I'm sure), eating some great pizza, and just spending time together. We also had an awesome planning session for the impending zombie uprising (more to follow another day). That's the mountaintop.
Then you come home. You walk in the house and the mad rush you were in to leave two days ago has left reminders all over your house. The load of laundry you had to do in order to pack now has remainders all over the living room. The dishes you so desperately wanted to get done BEFORE you left are now waiting for you, with two days of rest waiting on them. The litter box stinks. The toys that were rifled through in the selection process for Grandma's house are right where you left them. Why, oh why, didn't the Retreat Fairy come and clean while you were gone so you can hold on to that blissful feeling just a little longer? Slowly the lovey-dovey feeling begins to give way to the realities of parenthood as the kids come home and are cranky because the grandparents have spoiled them ALL weekend. Dinner has to be fixed. Baths must be done. Bedtime is a nightmare. Luckily I escaped a lot of this because I had Bible Study. Thanks, honey! And bills must be paid because the tax refund is here, and what else do you do with it when you're poor?
So the week begins and I'm ready. I am ready to tackle the medical bills that have been looming over our heads for too long. I have my debit card, checkbook, magnifying glass, a stack of bills, and the phone. And I'm off. And as the next four hours go by I become more and more disgusted with thee bils that I DIDN't know about. More money to them, less to us. Grrr. I want to go back to Flat Rock, back to the Mountain Lodge with its indoor pool and fireplaces and suite that magically gets tidied up with fresh towels every day. Sigh.
So I get back on the old computer that is SOOO slow that will now definitely NOT be replaced this year with tax refund money because Lexington Medical Center needs a new wing and we have been voted the ones to fund it, and someone has posted a video. This video was played at the retreat, after a warning by our leader (yep, our pastor) about its "sensitive" content. It brings a smile back to my face and reminds me that God gives us everything we need, and in my case that includes a wonderful supportive husband. I click "Play" and laugh again at the song. It gives me the perspective I need to dig in and finish what I need to do, because I know that one day soon, maybe even Wednesday, it will once again be "Business Time." :)
I think every couple needs a refresher course in love every once in a while. We all get so bogged down with kids, work, money, tax season, laundry, keeping the house clean, and just life in general, not to mention those specific things that each couple deals with uniquely. Sometimes we have to just get away from it all and relax, laugh, and remember why we started this journey in the first place. We were lucky enough, along with another couple, to be able to stay an extra night. We needed it. They needed it. We had a blast just walking around Hendersonville (though the guys would disagree, I'm sure), eating some great pizza, and just spending time together. We also had an awesome planning session for the impending zombie uprising (more to follow another day). That's the mountaintop.
Then you come home. You walk in the house and the mad rush you were in to leave two days ago has left reminders all over your house. The load of laundry you had to do in order to pack now has remainders all over the living room. The dishes you so desperately wanted to get done BEFORE you left are now waiting for you, with two days of rest waiting on them. The litter box stinks. The toys that were rifled through in the selection process for Grandma's house are right where you left them. Why, oh why, didn't the Retreat Fairy come and clean while you were gone so you can hold on to that blissful feeling just a little longer? Slowly the lovey-dovey feeling begins to give way to the realities of parenthood as the kids come home and are cranky because the grandparents have spoiled them ALL weekend. Dinner has to be fixed. Baths must be done. Bedtime is a nightmare. Luckily I escaped a lot of this because I had Bible Study. Thanks, honey! And bills must be paid because the tax refund is here, and what else do you do with it when you're poor?
So the week begins and I'm ready. I am ready to tackle the medical bills that have been looming over our heads for too long. I have my debit card, checkbook, magnifying glass, a stack of bills, and the phone. And I'm off. And as the next four hours go by I become more and more disgusted with thee bils that I DIDN't know about. More money to them, less to us. Grrr. I want to go back to Flat Rock, back to the Mountain Lodge with its indoor pool and fireplaces and suite that magically gets tidied up with fresh towels every day. Sigh.
So I get back on the old computer that is SOOO slow that will now definitely NOT be replaced this year with tax refund money because Lexington Medical Center needs a new wing and we have been voted the ones to fund it, and someone has posted a video. This video was played at the retreat, after a warning by our leader (yep, our pastor) about its "sensitive" content. It brings a smile back to my face and reminds me that God gives us everything we need, and in my case that includes a wonderful supportive husband. I click "Play" and laugh again at the song. It gives me the perspective I need to dig in and finish what I need to do, because I know that one day soon, maybe even Wednesday, it will once again be "Business Time." :)
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Blind Leading the Blind
For my FB friends, you know that I went to the doc today and got a good report. Well, while I was waiting, I noted a few things. 1 - It was stiflingly hot in there. 2 - There are some sad, sad souls in this world that need not only prayer but companionship and love. 3 - A lot of people are just plain mean.
You see, like almost everyone else I know I love to people watch. It was amazing to see thee number of people on crutches, in wheelchairs, or just incapacitated in a general sort of way that had no help and no compassion shown to them. Now granted, the staff at the office are very nice and were always very helpful...to the door of the waiting room. But when you see someone struggling with a door or a jacket or just walking in general, isn't it the right thing to do to offer help? I was amazed at the other people waiting and the complete lack of helpfulness or just plain decency! After helping one lady maneuver the door open I sat down a few seats away from a blind gentleman. He had a beautiful dog with him and I watched the dog admiringly, knowing all that he must do for his owner to help him. I was grateful the man had the dog, as he was obviously totally blind and relied on the dog and his cane heavily. His wife came out shortly, also very obviously blind. The nurse helped her get her jacket on and sat her in a chair so they could wait on their ride. They began to discuss the time, wondering aloud what time it was, nervous about their ride coming. I told them the time, and they were so thankful! We chatted cordially, and then I went back to magazine flipping. The stifling heat finally got the best of them and they decided to wait outside. Now you all know how crazy waiting rooms are...it's like a maze to get to the door sometimes. The man stood and began walking directly towards a row of chairs blocking him in. Having given the dog to his wife and not yet employing his cane, I saw disaster. I looked around at the patients closer to him, sure that someone would step up and BE HUMAN, but everyone just stared, as if watching a car accident about to occur. I jumped up, not to be a hero but to save these poor people from embarrassment and possible injury. I quietly guided them to the outside door. The couple expressed appreciation, and I returned to my seat, noting the avoidance of eye contact the other patients practiced with me. One lady, ONE, leaned towards me and said, "That was so nice of you." I told her that I was only doing what i felt necessary and that wouldn't anyone want the same done for them? "Well, I was just a coward, sitting here burying my face in a book, pretending I didn't notice." Really? You admit that? I guess that's a step, but.....??? Maybe it's because of my own eye problems, hopefully it's because I love Jesus, or maybe I'm just unusual. Who knows. But when I see people struggling with what life has handed them, I cannot sit by and watch them fall over a row of chairs. Not if I can stop it. I am astounded that anyone could.
And yet, I can remember a time when I was 7 or 8 and a very similar situation crossed my path. A few of us from my 2nd grade class were allowed to go next door to the Special Ed class and help with tutoring, playing, reading, etc. What an experience! I can distinctly remember teaching a boy how to write his name, and how excited he was. We had so much fun in there and got an early taste of what it was like to help someone. Thank you Miss Bramen for teaching us to show love to everyone! One day I had gone to the restroom and was washing my hands when a girl from the Special Ed class emerged from one of the stalls, her pants around her ankles. "Can't button, can't button!" Myself and two older girls were all she had for help. I was horrified, intimidated, and scared (I was REALLY shy then) when the older girls began to laugh hysterically at the girl's situation. Somehow the girl ignored the mocking and laughter and continued to plead for help. Finally (after the other girls left, I'm sad to say), I went over and helped the girls with her pants and walked her back to class. Kids are so cruel. But even at that young age I think God placed in me a tenderness to the disabled. Or at least in certain circumstances. God knows there have been people that have probably needed help that I have undoubtedly turned away from. But thankfully God has allowed me to have times I could help. With a smile, with a guiding arm, with a swift buttoning of pants, with helping a blind girl bowl on Saturday mornings, with showing patience when others couldn't or wouldn't, with an Education clinical in a Learning Disabled classroom. I have been blessed to meet and interact with many different people, and it always makes me more thankful for what I have and less bitter for what I don't. My problems seem more insignificant when you have what it takes to help someone else.
So I encourage you all, Help someone today. Make some one's day by helping them across the parking lot, holding the elevator for them, reaching something from a high shelf in the grocery store so they don't have to get out of the annoying scooter, anything. When you realize that God has given you what you need to help someone, it's a little harder to remember what you were complaining about. Just keep your eyes open. Opportunities are out there everyday.
You see, like almost everyone else I know I love to people watch. It was amazing to see thee number of people on crutches, in wheelchairs, or just incapacitated in a general sort of way that had no help and no compassion shown to them. Now granted, the staff at the office are very nice and were always very helpful...to the door of the waiting room. But when you see someone struggling with a door or a jacket or just walking in general, isn't it the right thing to do to offer help? I was amazed at the other people waiting and the complete lack of helpfulness or just plain decency! After helping one lady maneuver the door open I sat down a few seats away from a blind gentleman. He had a beautiful dog with him and I watched the dog admiringly, knowing all that he must do for his owner to help him. I was grateful the man had the dog, as he was obviously totally blind and relied on the dog and his cane heavily. His wife came out shortly, also very obviously blind. The nurse helped her get her jacket on and sat her in a chair so they could wait on their ride. They began to discuss the time, wondering aloud what time it was, nervous about their ride coming. I told them the time, and they were so thankful! We chatted cordially, and then I went back to magazine flipping. The stifling heat finally got the best of them and they decided to wait outside. Now you all know how crazy waiting rooms are...it's like a maze to get to the door sometimes. The man stood and began walking directly towards a row of chairs blocking him in. Having given the dog to his wife and not yet employing his cane, I saw disaster. I looked around at the patients closer to him, sure that someone would step up and BE HUMAN, but everyone just stared, as if watching a car accident about to occur. I jumped up, not to be a hero but to save these poor people from embarrassment and possible injury. I quietly guided them to the outside door. The couple expressed appreciation, and I returned to my seat, noting the avoidance of eye contact the other patients practiced with me. One lady, ONE, leaned towards me and said, "That was so nice of you." I told her that I was only doing what i felt necessary and that wouldn't anyone want the same done for them? "Well, I was just a coward, sitting here burying my face in a book, pretending I didn't notice." Really? You admit that? I guess that's a step, but.....??? Maybe it's because of my own eye problems, hopefully it's because I love Jesus, or maybe I'm just unusual. Who knows. But when I see people struggling with what life has handed them, I cannot sit by and watch them fall over a row of chairs. Not if I can stop it. I am astounded that anyone could.
And yet, I can remember a time when I was 7 or 8 and a very similar situation crossed my path. A few of us from my 2nd grade class were allowed to go next door to the Special Ed class and help with tutoring, playing, reading, etc. What an experience! I can distinctly remember teaching a boy how to write his name, and how excited he was. We had so much fun in there and got an early taste of what it was like to help someone. Thank you Miss Bramen for teaching us to show love to everyone! One day I had gone to the restroom and was washing my hands when a girl from the Special Ed class emerged from one of the stalls, her pants around her ankles. "Can't button, can't button!" Myself and two older girls were all she had for help. I was horrified, intimidated, and scared (I was REALLY shy then) when the older girls began to laugh hysterically at the girl's situation. Somehow the girl ignored the mocking and laughter and continued to plead for help. Finally (after the other girls left, I'm sad to say), I went over and helped the girls with her pants and walked her back to class. Kids are so cruel. But even at that young age I think God placed in me a tenderness to the disabled. Or at least in certain circumstances. God knows there have been people that have probably needed help that I have undoubtedly turned away from. But thankfully God has allowed me to have times I could help. With a smile, with a guiding arm, with a swift buttoning of pants, with helping a blind girl bowl on Saturday mornings, with showing patience when others couldn't or wouldn't, with an Education clinical in a Learning Disabled classroom. I have been blessed to meet and interact with many different people, and it always makes me more thankful for what I have and less bitter for what I don't. My problems seem more insignificant when you have what it takes to help someone else.
So I encourage you all, Help someone today. Make some one's day by helping them across the parking lot, holding the elevator for them, reaching something from a high shelf in the grocery store so they don't have to get out of the annoying scooter, anything. When you realize that God has given you what you need to help someone, it's a little harder to remember what you were complaining about. Just keep your eyes open. Opportunities are out there everyday.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Pretzel Lady and the Collapse of my Chakras
So yesterday I went to a Yoga class. Now I do have SOME experience with Yoga. I regularly took a class incorporating Yoga, Thai-Chi, and Pilates. I've done tons of Yoga videos. I went to a cookey Massage Therapy school where we did Yoga everyday before class. I'm no expert, but I wouldn't consider myself ignorant, either. so I wasn't TOO scared to try this class. I should have been.
So I go in and stake my claim on a spot in the BACK of the room, on the opposite side from the all-too-revealing wall of mirrors and head to the bathroom before we start. Because you ladies know, after babies and a hysterectomy, lots of stretching and movement can often bring forth....problems. When I come back someone has placed their mat BEHIND mine, much to my dismay. My genius plan of being behind everyone else has failed, and not because of another unfortunate soul like myself. No, no. The lithe body on the mat is already practicing her Sun Salutation before class starts. Brown-noser. I sit calmly, like some of the other participants, whom I am beginning to notice all could fit in my pant leg and still have room to breathe. Pretzel Lady behind me is now standing on her head. I am quickly calculating how long it would take for me to roll up my mat and escape when the teacher enters. Drat. Too late. As Teach moves about the room and readies herself, I find an opening with Pretzel when she release her legs from behind her head, and jokingly (I hope) say, "Hey, are you sure you don't want to get in front of me so I don't feel like such an idiot?" No, she claims that she is just "observing" the class today. Even better. Now not only can I imagine she's watching me, now I KNOW she can and will be noticing my resemblance to a whale attempting these positions. Great!
Class begins with Teach leading us in a circular rotation of our upper bodies that resembles something I saw on a documentary about African tribes doing a religious dance and me noting that the fans in the room will in fact NOT be turned on today, much to my chagrin. After our primitive gyrations we move on to Downward Dog. This one I know! Teach begins to move about correcting positions one-on-one, and Pretzel behind me is furiously taking notes. I bypass the instructions to "Let my mind clear," and begin prayer that no embarrassing bodily functions will choose that particular moment to occur,. God favors me, and I am even more thankful for my pre-class bathroom trip. We then move on to a series of movements that are designed to help air out our chakras or cleanse the energy or something. All I know is that we were supposed to be able to "swing" our legs up over our heads, lifting our hips off the ground, then lower them and sit up and bend over and grab our toes. Yeah, right. Maybe when I was 13. And I couldn't help notice I was one of two in the class unable to do this circus act. Luckily Teach didn't try to come correct me.
Back to Downward Dog. Now lets lift our leg, bring it up to our chest and sink into our lunge to release the hips. Okay, hold on, I'm still trying to pull my leg up there, all right, now I'm there. But now we've moved on to something else. Oh well. Back to Downward Dog. Warrior poses. I can do that. Finally, something that doesn't make me look retarded. Well, at least until she made us bend to the side and try to reach our other hand THROUGH our legs and grab our hand and....oh, forget it. Downward Dog. I think I can see a smile pulling on the lips of Pretzel as she scribbles. I mop the sweat from my forehead, chest, arms, and the mat where it has begun to puddle.
This continues for another 40 minutes, with me feeling more and more disconnected from my body as she tells us how we should be more in touch with our energy and the space of our bodies. Obviously I'm doing something wrong. Or maybe i just don't have chakras. Now before anyone writes and tells me about them, I know. We had to study them in Massage Therapy school. When we had to dangle crystals over them and try to manipulate the directional flow of Universal Energy in and out of them I stood up and expressed my unbelief and was thoroughly chastised for it. So I know, I just don't care or buy into it. So when it came time to sit with our legs out in front, leaning back on our hands, which were behind our hips, and lean our heads back in an attempt to have it touch the floor to stimulate both our Throat and Crown chakras, I simply stared at the motionless ceiling fans and listened longingly to the beat of the music from the RPM class next door. Downward Dog. And when we struck "Fire Logs" pose and did "Fire Breathing" to stimulate our Solar Plexus energy, I practiced labor breathing, to go along with my pregnant-looking fat belly.
Last move of the day. Hip opener. I'm sensing a theme here. I begin to think I'm REALLY not getting it because I feel no stretch when everyone else does. That is, until the position changes to an attempt to twist so far around that we can actually grab our toes. I think I pulled a muscle. Finally we're allowed to lay motionless like a dead fish and "watch all of our negative thoughts pass by. Acknowledge them, and bid them farewell." I'll get right on that. We are finally dismissed with a prayer in some language i don't understand and a final bow towards the front of the room. I made it through!
So there's my experience with Yoga. At least I can say I tried. And since the teacher never came to correct me, I can either conclude that I was okay or that it was obviously a lost cause in her mind. i choose to believe that I was good. But take me back to RPM where I can scream and sing and sweat with everyone else. Or even Pilates where I have a good spot in the back and no one can keep up with the teacher anyway so we all moan and complain. And there aren't any prayers in Hindu or talk of chakras and Universal energy sources and claiming our own space in the universe while in the shape of a Soft Pigeon. Yep, don't really see myself revisiting my chakras there anytime soon. So long, fruitcakes. DOWNWARD DOG!!!
So I go in and stake my claim on a spot in the BACK of the room, on the opposite side from the all-too-revealing wall of mirrors and head to the bathroom before we start. Because you ladies know, after babies and a hysterectomy, lots of stretching and movement can often bring forth....problems. When I come back someone has placed their mat BEHIND mine, much to my dismay. My genius plan of being behind everyone else has failed, and not because of another unfortunate soul like myself. No, no. The lithe body on the mat is already practicing her Sun Salutation before class starts. Brown-noser. I sit calmly, like some of the other participants, whom I am beginning to notice all could fit in my pant leg and still have room to breathe. Pretzel Lady behind me is now standing on her head. I am quickly calculating how long it would take for me to roll up my mat and escape when the teacher enters. Drat. Too late. As Teach moves about the room and readies herself, I find an opening with Pretzel when she release her legs from behind her head, and jokingly (I hope) say, "Hey, are you sure you don't want to get in front of me so I don't feel like such an idiot?" No, she claims that she is just "observing" the class today. Even better. Now not only can I imagine she's watching me, now I KNOW she can and will be noticing my resemblance to a whale attempting these positions. Great!
Class begins with Teach leading us in a circular rotation of our upper bodies that resembles something I saw on a documentary about African tribes doing a religious dance and me noting that the fans in the room will in fact NOT be turned on today, much to my chagrin. After our primitive gyrations we move on to Downward Dog. This one I know! Teach begins to move about correcting positions one-on-one, and Pretzel behind me is furiously taking notes. I bypass the instructions to "Let my mind clear," and begin prayer that no embarrassing bodily functions will choose that particular moment to occur,. God favors me, and I am even more thankful for my pre-class bathroom trip. We then move on to a series of movements that are designed to help air out our chakras or cleanse the energy or something. All I know is that we were supposed to be able to "swing" our legs up over our heads, lifting our hips off the ground, then lower them and sit up and bend over and grab our toes. Yeah, right. Maybe when I was 13. And I couldn't help notice I was one of two in the class unable to do this circus act. Luckily Teach didn't try to come correct me.
Back to Downward Dog. Now lets lift our leg, bring it up to our chest and sink into our lunge to release the hips. Okay, hold on, I'm still trying to pull my leg up there, all right, now I'm there. But now we've moved on to something else. Oh well. Back to Downward Dog. Warrior poses. I can do that. Finally, something that doesn't make me look retarded. Well, at least until she made us bend to the side and try to reach our other hand THROUGH our legs and grab our hand and....oh, forget it. Downward Dog. I think I can see a smile pulling on the lips of Pretzel as she scribbles. I mop the sweat from my forehead, chest, arms, and the mat where it has begun to puddle.
This continues for another 40 minutes, with me feeling more and more disconnected from my body as she tells us how we should be more in touch with our energy and the space of our bodies. Obviously I'm doing something wrong. Or maybe i just don't have chakras. Now before anyone writes and tells me about them, I know. We had to study them in Massage Therapy school. When we had to dangle crystals over them and try to manipulate the directional flow of Universal Energy in and out of them I stood up and expressed my unbelief and was thoroughly chastised for it. So I know, I just don't care or buy into it. So when it came time to sit with our legs out in front, leaning back on our hands, which were behind our hips, and lean our heads back in an attempt to have it touch the floor to stimulate both our Throat and Crown chakras, I simply stared at the motionless ceiling fans and listened longingly to the beat of the music from the RPM class next door. Downward Dog. And when we struck "Fire Logs" pose and did "Fire Breathing" to stimulate our Solar Plexus energy, I practiced labor breathing, to go along with my pregnant-looking fat belly.Last move of the day. Hip opener. I'm sensing a theme here. I begin to think I'm REALLY not getting it because I feel no stretch when everyone else does. That is, until the position changes to an attempt to twist so far around that we can actually grab our toes. I think I pulled a muscle. Finally we're allowed to lay motionless like a dead fish and "watch all of our negative thoughts pass by. Acknowledge them, and bid them farewell." I'll get right on that. We are finally dismissed with a prayer in some language i don't understand and a final bow towards the front of the room. I made it through!
So there's my experience with Yoga. At least I can say I tried. And since the teacher never came to correct me, I can either conclude that I was okay or that it was obviously a lost cause in her mind. i choose to believe that I was good. But take me back to RPM where I can scream and sing and sweat with everyone else. Or even Pilates where I have a good spot in the back and no one can keep up with the teacher anyway so we all moan and complain. And there aren't any prayers in Hindu or talk of chakras and Universal energy sources and claiming our own space in the universe while in the shape of a Soft Pigeon. Yep, don't really see myself revisiting my chakras there anytime soon. So long, fruitcakes. DOWNWARD DOG!!!
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Taking back the Kelly-ness
So we have this friend, Mitchell, who is.....well, he's fun. About 5 years younger than us, and he is still enjoying being young and carefree. Single, just got a new Mustang, plays video games (a lot) and loves superheroes. Great guy, and he keeps my husband feeling young :). Anyway, I love him like a brother, and he treats me like a sister. He has coined the term "Kelly-ness" to describe the awesomeness that is me. Kind of a running joke between us. So I started thinking about what exactly that is, or may be. What does it look like, and just how awesome is it?
Well, I wasn't too happy with what I discovered. I've lost my Kelly-ness, and, sadly, it was long before Mitchell ever knew me. You see, I'm coming to terms with some hard truths. I am not happy with who I have become, why I have let myself become this way, and the things I have tried to do to make myself feel better about it. This is probably going to be a little different than previous posts in that I usually write from a place of humor. Don't pity me, laugh with me! That's my motto. But today I need to dig a little deeper.
Around the end of my junior year I had some really crappy stuff happen. I really don't want to broadcast details all over cyberspace (or, in my case, probably cybervillage), but just know that it was not a happy time. My view of myself became very skewed, and without what I thought I needed from home (hindsight's 20/20), I didn't handle it well. I swallowed a lot of my problems, and secretly rebelled against everything I knew to be true and good. And when a girl doesn't respect herself, no one else does either. I began to flounder, knowing I needed to get back to God, but not really knowing how, or what it even looked like. It seemed that even the ways I sought God failed me. My youth group, guys I dated who "claimed" to be really great Christians, everything. I fell deeper and deeper. in college, I thought I had it figured out, and branched out to try to find myself again in a new light. Tragedy again. I found myself in an eerily similar situation as I had a few years earlier, and it caused me to shut down completely. I left school, had to move home for medical complications of said situation, and things went from bad to worse. I lapsed back into depression, which manifested in terrible panic attacks at very inopportune times, like driving down the highway. I was diagnosed, at 20 years old and a healthy weight, of high blood pressure. And I started putting on weight. A lot of weight. My Kelly-ness was gone.
I told God I didn't ever want to date again. I really, really, didn't want a husband. Please, God, just keep them away from me. I was too ashamed, too broken, too baggage-laden to even think about the transparency it would take to have a meaningful relationship. He had other plans, and sent me Derrell, my husband. And while I felt God's forgiveness and acceptance at that time, I was sooooo just scratching the surface. I had only let that realization, that grace, that love, go so deep into my life.
And then I lost a good deal of my vision and my ability to drive. Wow. That sentence doesn't even begin to describe how my life has changed because of Stargardt's Disease. That is a whole other "laughter through tears" post for a later day. Just know I have been holding onto a lot of anger because of it. More weight, more health problems, less Kelly-ness. Blah, blah, blah, and yes, I would like some cheese now.
So my great realization came, my Biggest Loser moment, if you will, not too long ago. God has used an awesome book, Made to Crave, and a group of women at my church to bring me to it. No one statement, no one golden moment, but a slow realization that I am so covered in hurt and anger and, well, in fat, that I cannot even begin to recognize, much less let shine, who God created me to be. While I have spent thousands of dollars on therapy and weight-loss projects and self-help and thousands of hours in prayer and retreat and altar calls trying to fix what is broken, I have missed the big picture. I have been waiting on God to "fix" me, but I haven't opened myself up, physically or emotionally, to let Him do it. The other night I was curling up into my same-old, comfortable sleep position, and realized it felt different. Different because and inch or two of fat was missing. It wasn't as comforting, somehow, without the squishy fat there. It hit me. How much more of what I have done to myself physically is there because I feel I need it to cover and comfort me? If it is somehow sickly comforting to me physically, how much more so does it allow for an emotional barrier, and spiritual wall? The thought of actually losing all this weight, of not sitting with my arms crossed over my pregnant-appearing belly, of not having that physical barrier between me and other people, between me and my husband, actually frightened me tremendously. Vulnerability is a very scary thing. And what happens when I don't have that weight to cause that distance between me and God? when I actually cleanse the temple and allow Him in, fully? Not to say AT ALL that one cannot be overweight and close to God. Not at all! But for me personally, my weight, or abundance thereof, is a rebellion against God. I believe I haven't WANTED Him that close, so I have sabotaged my temple to keep Him at a safe distance. The thought of being completely open for His presence, of allowing Him to get rid of all my junk, even my weight, scares the poo out of me. But I refuse to let that be me anymore. I've already stepped out of the boat, and I have to walk on water now, to my Jesus. I can't get back in.
And it's not just the weight that's changing. I allowed my dear friend Lynde to see my trash. Literally. To come inside my house and help me begin the process of cleaning out my house. How embarrassing, how freeing. And I tell you, it feels good. It has helped my marriage, my mood, my stress level has decreased, it's great.
I have a taste of the Kelly-ness. I think I know what I'm missing. It's the feeling I have after I burn 919 calories in 45 minutes of RPM at the gym, and I know that I could have never done it on my own, but with God's help and the ribbing of great instructors I WAS able to accomplish it, and it feels GREAT! It's the feeling of going to bed knowing that I did not put things into my body today that negate God's purpose for my life. I cannot serve Him fully if I succomb to my own temptations with food. It's the feeling that, room by room, my house is getting in order, and the daily upkeep of it leaves my feeling accomplished and light-hearted. This is just the beginning. True Kelly-ness is limitless. I don't know what it will fully look like, or when it will come (probably not in this life), but I'm high on the idea of it. Being the Kelly God intended me to be. Not the Kelly that took the reins herself and messed it up. Not the Kelly that the world has beaten down with illness and experience. Not the Kelly who hides from God's will under layers of guilt and fat. Nope. Look out world, I'm getting my Kelly-ness back. And it looks beautiful.
Well, I wasn't too happy with what I discovered. I've lost my Kelly-ness, and, sadly, it was long before Mitchell ever knew me. You see, I'm coming to terms with some hard truths. I am not happy with who I have become, why I have let myself become this way, and the things I have tried to do to make myself feel better about it. This is probably going to be a little different than previous posts in that I usually write from a place of humor. Don't pity me, laugh with me! That's my motto. But today I need to dig a little deeper.
Around the end of my junior year I had some really crappy stuff happen. I really don't want to broadcast details all over cyberspace (or, in my case, probably cybervillage), but just know that it was not a happy time. My view of myself became very skewed, and without what I thought I needed from home (hindsight's 20/20), I didn't handle it well. I swallowed a lot of my problems, and secretly rebelled against everything I knew to be true and good. And when a girl doesn't respect herself, no one else does either. I began to flounder, knowing I needed to get back to God, but not really knowing how, or what it even looked like. It seemed that even the ways I sought God failed me. My youth group, guys I dated who "claimed" to be really great Christians, everything. I fell deeper and deeper. in college, I thought I had it figured out, and branched out to try to find myself again in a new light. Tragedy again. I found myself in an eerily similar situation as I had a few years earlier, and it caused me to shut down completely. I left school, had to move home for medical complications of said situation, and things went from bad to worse. I lapsed back into depression, which manifested in terrible panic attacks at very inopportune times, like driving down the highway. I was diagnosed, at 20 years old and a healthy weight, of high blood pressure. And I started putting on weight. A lot of weight. My Kelly-ness was gone.
I told God I didn't ever want to date again. I really, really, didn't want a husband. Please, God, just keep them away from me. I was too ashamed, too broken, too baggage-laden to even think about the transparency it would take to have a meaningful relationship. He had other plans, and sent me Derrell, my husband. And while I felt God's forgiveness and acceptance at that time, I was sooooo just scratching the surface. I had only let that realization, that grace, that love, go so deep into my life.
And then I lost a good deal of my vision and my ability to drive. Wow. That sentence doesn't even begin to describe how my life has changed because of Stargardt's Disease. That is a whole other "laughter through tears" post for a later day. Just know I have been holding onto a lot of anger because of it. More weight, more health problems, less Kelly-ness. Blah, blah, blah, and yes, I would like some cheese now.
So my great realization came, my Biggest Loser moment, if you will, not too long ago. God has used an awesome book, Made to Crave, and a group of women at my church to bring me to it. No one statement, no one golden moment, but a slow realization that I am so covered in hurt and anger and, well, in fat, that I cannot even begin to recognize, much less let shine, who God created me to be. While I have spent thousands of dollars on therapy and weight-loss projects and self-help and thousands of hours in prayer and retreat and altar calls trying to fix what is broken, I have missed the big picture. I have been waiting on God to "fix" me, but I haven't opened myself up, physically or emotionally, to let Him do it. The other night I was curling up into my same-old, comfortable sleep position, and realized it felt different. Different because and inch or two of fat was missing. It wasn't as comforting, somehow, without the squishy fat there. It hit me. How much more of what I have done to myself physically is there because I feel I need it to cover and comfort me? If it is somehow sickly comforting to me physically, how much more so does it allow for an emotional barrier, and spiritual wall? The thought of actually losing all this weight, of not sitting with my arms crossed over my pregnant-appearing belly, of not having that physical barrier between me and other people, between me and my husband, actually frightened me tremendously. Vulnerability is a very scary thing. And what happens when I don't have that weight to cause that distance between me and God? when I actually cleanse the temple and allow Him in, fully? Not to say AT ALL that one cannot be overweight and close to God. Not at all! But for me personally, my weight, or abundance thereof, is a rebellion against God. I believe I haven't WANTED Him that close, so I have sabotaged my temple to keep Him at a safe distance. The thought of being completely open for His presence, of allowing Him to get rid of all my junk, even my weight, scares the poo out of me. But I refuse to let that be me anymore. I've already stepped out of the boat, and I have to walk on water now, to my Jesus. I can't get back in.
And it's not just the weight that's changing. I allowed my dear friend Lynde to see my trash. Literally. To come inside my house and help me begin the process of cleaning out my house. How embarrassing, how freeing. And I tell you, it feels good. It has helped my marriage, my mood, my stress level has decreased, it's great.
I have a taste of the Kelly-ness. I think I know what I'm missing. It's the feeling I have after I burn 919 calories in 45 minutes of RPM at the gym, and I know that I could have never done it on my own, but with God's help and the ribbing of great instructors I WAS able to accomplish it, and it feels GREAT! It's the feeling of going to bed knowing that I did not put things into my body today that negate God's purpose for my life. I cannot serve Him fully if I succomb to my own temptations with food. It's the feeling that, room by room, my house is getting in order, and the daily upkeep of it leaves my feeling accomplished and light-hearted. This is just the beginning. True Kelly-ness is limitless. I don't know what it will fully look like, or when it will come (probably not in this life), but I'm high on the idea of it. Being the Kelly God intended me to be. Not the Kelly that took the reins herself and messed it up. Not the Kelly that the world has beaten down with illness and experience. Not the Kelly who hides from God's will under layers of guilt and fat. Nope. Look out world, I'm getting my Kelly-ness back. And it looks beautiful.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
"uh, Oh. Here comes Patient Number 32749.38....again."
I suppose I should have realized when I was a child that I would one day have a collective medical record equal to the size of a set of encyclopedias...or more. You see, I was always the sickly child, the one who got allergies, strep throat at least twice a year, bronchitis, mono, you name it. I was put in glasses in first grade, and when I began going to the dentist they decided that my teeth were abnormally groovy and needed sealants put on. All of them. So you see, my parents and I had ample warning. But we did not heed this warning and instead kept muddling through missed school, ineffective medications, and repetitive trips to Dr. A, Dr. B, Dr. C, etc.
As I grew up and we moved to a new town, we realized even more the number of things that we as my family managed to confound doctors with. We also realized some things that had gone on for years and could have been treated by a simple thorough medical exam. I had my first surgery at 16, a "simple" sinus surgery. After weeks of not healing, a second procedure had to be done to remove scar tissue. Please note that this event should have been surrounded by some faint suspicious music with some effective spotlighting to emphasize that anyone of any intelligence should pick up on the foreshadowing taking place. We didn't notice.
Fast forward several years, several surgeries. Scar tissue, it seems, has become a sort of superhuman thing for me. Doctors laugh (yes, actually laugh) as they try to remove my baby from my tummy, trying desperately to avoid or break through the inpenetratable web of kryptonite that has formed and continues to form inside me. But alas, this is just the tip of the iceberg. I have had years of diagnoses that amaze, confound, and clearly defy all odds of mankind. A rare and degenerative eye disease that renders me legally blind at the ripe old age of 23, scary lumps that turn out to be...scar tissue, unexplained allergic reactions during pregnancy that really throw nurses into a frenzy during labor, gestational diabetes followed by Diabetes Type 2, bleeds during pregnancy, miscarriages, diseases that show up in places they shouldn't on my body, a failed, Lap Band procedure because of my body's intolerance for anything, a growth on the inside of my eyelid (picture a flaming torch coming at your eye as you are required to hold it open), so many visits to the OB/GYN that I am now on Volume II of my overly thick chart there, atypical IBS, atypical presentation of all of the above, the metabolism of a sloth, and that's just to name a few. I tell you, my doctors only keep me around so that they can one day make tons of money off of an article they will publish on the atypical presentation of every rare and non rare disorder known in their respective field of study.
So it should not have surprised me when I went to the endocrinologist this week to see if maybe my thyroid was not working properly, somehow giving an explanation to the fact that I have been working out like Jane Fonda on speed and eating rabbit food for the past two months and not lost an ounce. Well, wonder of all wonders, my thyroid works fine. If anything, it borders on working TOO well, which should make me LOSE weight rather than gain. Go figure. Well, that was the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back. I lost it. First with the poor PA (obviously they didn't realize who they were dealing with when they did not schedule me with a doctor), and then moving to the doctor when she realized I might jump up and strangle her. He sat patiently while I went through a very "un-Jesus girl" rage about the unfairness of my obviously unbalanced gene selection since no one else in my family seemed to be vying for medical textbook space with me and what had I ever done to deserve this uncooperative body of mine and, well, you get the point. His dumbed-down explanation was that I have a metabolic problem that cannot be treated. My question, after I calmed down, was, "So I have diabetes because I'm fat and I'm fat because I have diabetes?" He verified this insane logic with a nod. "So, following this train of logic, I need to lose weight to help my diabetes, but I can't lose weight because of the diabetes?" Another nod. Oh, it will come. Eventually. But probably not before I get frustrated and give up, as it could take SEVERAL months to see any change on that evil contraption we call a bathroom scale. Oh, and Trainer Terry is insane if he thinks that I can stick to a 1000-calorie diet. At least the medical professionals agreed with me on that and gave me some more room to chew.
So I left in tears, frustrated yet again that I once more fall into the 0.00000000001 percent of people that suffer from numerous conditions, side effects, and problems that only 0.000001 percent of people have. My family and I have learned to listen well when the drug commercials tell of the horrific side effects like heart attack, stroke, anal leakage, fainting, joint pain, foaming at the mouth and uncontrolled urination that affect one out of a trillion people who take this drug for insomnia. It WILL happen.
So what have I learned? Well, good doctors are the ones that let you cry and don't lock you up when you do. That's important. And I have to be content that, while I will not be losing the fat like my friends who have also begun this getting-healthy journey, my health is in fact improving. And I must learn to ignore, or at least not resent, my brothers who have run marathons and are training for triathlons and can run for miles while I run the distance of two streetlights. I will probably be the fat one in the gym for a long time. But I'll be a strong fat girl. And that's just going to have to be okay. For now.
As I grew up and we moved to a new town, we realized even more the number of things that we as my family managed to confound doctors with. We also realized some things that had gone on for years and could have been treated by a simple thorough medical exam. I had my first surgery at 16, a "simple" sinus surgery. After weeks of not healing, a second procedure had to be done to remove scar tissue. Please note that this event should have been surrounded by some faint suspicious music with some effective spotlighting to emphasize that anyone of any intelligence should pick up on the foreshadowing taking place. We didn't notice.
Fast forward several years, several surgeries. Scar tissue, it seems, has become a sort of superhuman thing for me. Doctors laugh (yes, actually laugh) as they try to remove my baby from my tummy, trying desperately to avoid or break through the inpenetratable web of kryptonite that has formed and continues to form inside me. But alas, this is just the tip of the iceberg. I have had years of diagnoses that amaze, confound, and clearly defy all odds of mankind. A rare and degenerative eye disease that renders me legally blind at the ripe old age of 23, scary lumps that turn out to be...scar tissue, unexplained allergic reactions during pregnancy that really throw nurses into a frenzy during labor, gestational diabetes followed by Diabetes Type 2, bleeds during pregnancy, miscarriages, diseases that show up in places they shouldn't on my body, a failed, Lap Band procedure because of my body's intolerance for anything, a growth on the inside of my eyelid (picture a flaming torch coming at your eye as you are required to hold it open), so many visits to the OB/GYN that I am now on Volume II of my overly thick chart there, atypical IBS, atypical presentation of all of the above, the metabolism of a sloth, and that's just to name a few. I tell you, my doctors only keep me around so that they can one day make tons of money off of an article they will publish on the atypical presentation of every rare and non rare disorder known in their respective field of study.
So it should not have surprised me when I went to the endocrinologist this week to see if maybe my thyroid was not working properly, somehow giving an explanation to the fact that I have been working out like Jane Fonda on speed and eating rabbit food for the past two months and not lost an ounce. Well, wonder of all wonders, my thyroid works fine. If anything, it borders on working TOO well, which should make me LOSE weight rather than gain. Go figure. Well, that was the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back. I lost it. First with the poor PA (obviously they didn't realize who they were dealing with when they did not schedule me with a doctor), and then moving to the doctor when she realized I might jump up and strangle her. He sat patiently while I went through a very "un-Jesus girl" rage about the unfairness of my obviously unbalanced gene selection since no one else in my family seemed to be vying for medical textbook space with me and what had I ever done to deserve this uncooperative body of mine and, well, you get the point. His dumbed-down explanation was that I have a metabolic problem that cannot be treated. My question, after I calmed down, was, "So I have diabetes because I'm fat and I'm fat because I have diabetes?" He verified this insane logic with a nod. "So, following this train of logic, I need to lose weight to help my diabetes, but I can't lose weight because of the diabetes?" Another nod. Oh, it will come. Eventually. But probably not before I get frustrated and give up, as it could take SEVERAL months to see any change on that evil contraption we call a bathroom scale. Oh, and Trainer Terry is insane if he thinks that I can stick to a 1000-calorie diet. At least the medical professionals agreed with me on that and gave me some more room to chew.
So I left in tears, frustrated yet again that I once more fall into the 0.00000000001 percent of people that suffer from numerous conditions, side effects, and problems that only 0.000001 percent of people have. My family and I have learned to listen well when the drug commercials tell of the horrific side effects like heart attack, stroke, anal leakage, fainting, joint pain, foaming at the mouth and uncontrolled urination that affect one out of a trillion people who take this drug for insomnia. It WILL happen.
So what have I learned? Well, good doctors are the ones that let you cry and don't lock you up when you do. That's important. And I have to be content that, while I will not be losing the fat like my friends who have also begun this getting-healthy journey, my health is in fact improving. And I must learn to ignore, or at least not resent, my brothers who have run marathons and are training for triathlons and can run for miles while I run the distance of two streetlights. I will probably be the fat one in the gym for a long time. But I'll be a strong fat girl. And that's just going to have to be okay. For now.
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