It's Easier Balancing the Headstand

My health comes in waves.  With autoimmune, my symptoms and needs tend to shift dramatically every few months, affecting my sleep cycles, pain levels, ability to eat, to move, etc.  And despite diligently following the rituals of whatever the health god within me decides it wants that week, I’ve had a significant flare about once a year over the past four years.  And this is considered remission.

Now keep in mind, every body, even the ones with the same diseases, face different symptoms.  So for me, a flare means enough pain that I can’t eat, hospitalization until it’s “treated” and then leaving the hospital and feeling like a college graduate who’s supposed to be set to succeed but feels no different than the day before.

A.K.A. I’m not usually back to 100% for maybe…another year?

It’s a lot, but I do love my Crohn’s.  It forced me to become independent before I knew that was an option.  It’s how I have amazing friends that I’ll have for the rest of my life.  And it’s where I grew my empathy.  Thus I promise this isn’t a sympathy ploy.  I share these insights so you can begin to understand my excitement to be a little bit closer to being back on my feet.

And I’ve been doing yoga :)  I did dance as a kid, physical theatre in high school, circus in spurts throughout college…and I’m learning that expressing myself physically is how I tap into the essence of who I am.  Physical conformity, whether that’s constraining myself in a uniform, not being able stretch or move, just standing as a decaying tree…it’s my bird cage.  And I can only fly when I am present in my body.

Now physically, this isn’t something I can commit to.  This is like having a temporary gig that pays well and feeds you.  It’s wonderful but you know it will eventually end, so you eat up, get comfortable, but not complacent.  

And I do have to be careful not to overdo it.  Again, it’s not a set rule (because my body likes to change those just as I begin to figure them out…) but generally when I push myself, I tend to oversleep the next day by about six hours.  It’s like my body has a manual override.  This happened once from walking.

Yup.

So...with that in mind, to be able to have a morning routine.  To be active again, maybe ready to take a class with fewer rest breaks than I’ve been giving myself, even just to need to ten and not twelve hours of sleep a night…  I feel so much more more alive.

And while I hope it lasts, I focusing on enjoying every present moment.

(mandated yoga photo.; please note the irony of this being the image of being back on my feet)

An Aside: What's On My Plate

In the spirit of sharing my story and what I’m facing each day, I figure I’ll write a bit more about some of the obscure things that are on my plate.  We know the meat and potatoes that are on there (housing and health) but I also have some weird side dishes.  Let’s discuss three of them today. I think this will be my new series, so prepare yourself for an onslaught of sides. 

(Also I'm listing each “side” in all caps, so please say each of them aloud to yourself in a triumphant voice.  It adds importance)

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NAPS.

I keep falling asleep.  The meds I’m on knock me out so hard and so suddenly that as I write this I’ve been falling asleep while sitting up.  But I don’t want to take naps all the time (because thenI feel like I’m in preschool), so I end up pushing myself to stay awake….which then makes me even sleepier….and is clearly not the perfect solution.  It’s a sleepy work in progress (which will get easier when my meds change soon).

I’ve also so far shied away from caffeine….but maybe by then I will be able to have the glorious elixir of life (coffee) once again.

Until then, I’ll try to embrace my existence as the dormouse from Alice in Wonderland.

EDIT: since writing this, I had a “taste” of decaf coffee!  Still not my “usual” of coffees larger than my face, but I’ll get there.  I believe in myself.

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Next.

STAIRS.

They are the bane of my existence.

Every step feels like rock-climbing.  I’m constantly uncertain of my footing, always preparing for how to catch myself should I begin to fall.  I have stairs going up to my apartment currently, and they are the worst part of my day.  I have tried railings, stepping one foot at a time, using a friend’s arm….and honestly there is only one thing that works: there is a glorious friend in my life that gives me piggy-back-rides.

This is the perfect solution to stairs and I owe this friend my sanity.  Being angered by angled pieces of concrete is not a sign of emotional balance, and thus the tranquility that the piggy-back-rides provide me is one to be admired by monks.  Om.

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THE WAY SOCIETY VIEWS THE SICK

Now this is less of a side dish and more the weird and strong smelling main course, which someone brings to a potluck that everyone is a little too afraid to taste.

So I’ll touch on it gently.

We live in a world where healing is considered weakness.  A friend injured herself and asked on facebook if anyone had extra crutches for “this pathetic gimp.”  Now I’m not going to speak at length about how offensive the word “gimp" is, nor dive into the fact that she was insulting more people than herself by using the derogative term…. Instead, I’ll simply comment on her use of the word “pathetic.”  By calling herself a “gimp” it’s clear that she didn’t respect herself, or anyone who needs the aid of crutches to get around; but, as if that wasn’t enough, she further qualified the offensive noun with the word “pathetic.”  Pathetic is someone that is sad and evokes pity, but in a way that you feel gross about it.  Pathetic isn’t the homeless person pass you wish you could give a dollar to; pathetic is the person that spits on the homeless instead of feeling sympathy.  Pathetic is someone that should know better, try harder, be more than they are failing to accomplish.

And she thought her injury made her pathetic.  That she should have known better, tried harder, been more than she was failing to accomplish….all because of an injury that I assume was out of her control.

I think she should have praised herself.  Rewarded herself for the bravery that it takes to ask for help when you need it.  I think she deserved kindness from everyone but mostly herself, for knowing not to push herself beyond her injury, thus allowing her body to heal at its own pace with the aid of crutches.

I know healing to be something that deserves that much love, but unfortunately society tends to agree with this friend of mine.  The world arounds us prefers the word “sickness” over “healing,” like its some disfiguration you are responsible for.  I have been forced to feel the wrath of “being sick” for almost my entire life; but again, I prefer the word healing.  It implies a process that lasts forever; of finding balance physically and emotionally.  I am proud to be healing.  I am not ashamed of a sickness.  Though some days I wish society could be a little more sympathetic; I don’t want to have to worry about my friends seeing me as “pathetic” for something that is out of my control, which I am doing my best to overcome.

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So those are today's side dishes: naps, stairs and a rant on society.  As far as what's on my plate, it's  definitely a feast, so I'll leave you here to digest.

The Power of Forgiveness