"We're 30, we have iPhones, and it's the last Saturday of 2012." - My bff
It snowed in my town yesterday - a town in SoCal that doesn't get snow. That kind of sums up my year: different and unexpected.
I turned 30 and my Georgia bff flew out to surprise me at my 80s-themed bday party.
I decided to have, then had, major abdominal surgery.
I had my appendix out.
I went back to school...something I swore I'd never do.
I had a pain-free period for the first time in over a decade.
I met 4 new nieces and nephews. (They're awesome, btw.)
I learned CSS, HTML, and JavaScript...something else I swore I'd never do.
Two friends from long ago and far away (literally) came to Cali for a visit.
Another friend from early college converted quite unexpectedly to Christianity.
I had a gift of French wine and French cheese for the first time in 7 years.
I got a smart phone. Yet another thing I swore I'd never do.
I deleted facebook.
The furthest I traveled was to NorCal. Me not traveling in a whole year...that's a record!
And on top of all that I stayed home on New Year's Eve with a corn pack on my feet and a heated blanket. You may stay up to ring in the new year if you want, but I'm an early-to-bed kinda girl myself. :) Here's to a good 2013!
"Pope Benedict XVI has also called on French bishops to oppose the bill and defend marriage as the 'foundation of social life.'” (source)
A celibate man who is the leader and head of thousands (millions? Who knows) of other celibate men and women, calls marriage the foundation of social life. I find this funny...delightfully ironic.
I have some exciting news (which most of you will hear if I ever get my Christmas letter out!): through the process of having my surgery I was able to connect to 2 girls with whom I am starting a non-profit to help other women pay for their Endo surgeries! I'll keep you updated about it as things happen (and things ARE happening!!), but for now I wanted to let you know that one of the girls, Jo, hasn't had her surgery yet. If you have a little extra money this year to give to charity, please consider giving to her Give Forward fundraiser:
Her Endo is much more advanced than mine was - she can't work at all and has a heating pad on her stomach and back 24 hours a day, all month long! Jo has been an enormously important part of our non-profit planning, even connecting us to an organization that may be able to give us our first grant . The sooner we can help her, the sooner she and I can start helping hundreds of other women.
Just a heads-up, in the near future I will be privatizing this blog while I job-hunt. So if you're a friend and regular reader and all of a sudden you can't access my page it's not because I hate you, it's because I need to find a job. :)
I think this is what it means to be part of the human family & part of the Kingdom of God. It means standing by the hospital bed of a loved one, weeping & praying and doing what you can to help. It means reading about a war-torn country, or refugees, or victims of human trafficking, or urban gang members, or the working poor, or the neglected elderly, or victims of racial discrimination, or whatever & whoever breaks your heart, and weeping and praying and doing what you can to help.
And so are the packages! I totally buy into the season's commercialism, cause who doesn't like to give presents? I did most of my shopping online and a few things have already arrived...
Can I just say it? We so excited.
(Artwork by Marcia Furman can be found here; books can be found here, and here.)
So said I to my niece one sunny afternoon when she was yelling at her friend Zach because he insisted that 14 immediately follows 7.
He was on the point of tears and insisted he was right.
He was wrong.
But he was 4.
He hadn't yet grown up enough to realize, indeed, 14 does not immediately follow 7. Yelling at him wouldn't do any good, and it would be kinder to let him sit in his fallacy until he was ready to hear the truth.
Thus I tried explaining to my niece. And as soon as the words were out of my mouth, I realized I needed to hear them far more than she.
Four generations: Mom, Sister, niece, Grandma Lois
My grandpa died when my mom was 3 years old. This was always a great tragedy to me, as I am incredibly nostalgic and fiercely in love with my family. (Let's ignore that I wouldn't have been born if he'd lived...that's a moot point and a long story.) Yet in keeping with "all things working together for good", my grandma remarried when Mom was 8. His name was George. Georgie Pordgie. A living nightmare.
He'd killed his first wife and her father, though he never got caught for it. We know he did because he tried to kill my grandmother in the same way they'd died. He tried multiple times. Thankfully my grandma had a crazy mother and knew how to deal with insanity - she simply refused to die.
But she would leave. After 4 years of terror and tantrums (the tantrums, of course, on George's part) Grandma left. But she couldn't just escape into the night, no. You see, George the sadist had 3 daughters by his first wife. Grandma Lois couldn't leave them to be beaten and berated til death or majority did them part. She determined to get them out too. The problem was, things didn't work in the 60s the way they work today - no matter how many times George's abuse was reported, the children were not taken away and the man was not imprisoned. There was only one thing left to do: buy him off.
The house was in Grandma's name. When George denied her custody of his children, she offered him half the proceeds of the sale of the house. By some great miracle (there IS a God), he agreed, on the stipulation that they go to a girls' home rather than be given to her. She said yes, found them a good home in Iowa, and put them on a plane. To this day she'll say letting them go was one of the hardest things she ever did, but she had to do it to get them away from George. The girls were raised in Iowa and ended up staying there. Though I heard the stories my whole life, I never met them.
Two weeks ago my cousin Desiree got married. Desiree is the daughter of my mother's half sister Dawna - the only child Grandma Lois and George had together. The oldest of George's daughters came out for the wedding, since Desiree is technically her blood niece. Meeting her was kind of like meeting my dead grandfather: a legendary creature from my mother's past come alive again. All the old stories were dredged up, but this time I got to hear them from Sandy's perspective too. Apparently he'd tried to kill her the same way he'd killed her mother. To an abused 9-year-old in the 1960s, Grandma's second marriage is the best thing that could have happened. She calls Grandma "Mama" - strange and childlike and affectionate to my ears since my mom and aunties and uncle just call her "Mom".
I went with Grandma and Aunt Brenda and Aunt Carol the day Sandy was dropped off to the airport cause, like I said, I'm terribly nostalgic. These family interactions mean something to me; the stories are buried in the vaults of my heart. I waited in the running car as I watched the four of them disappear around a corner to see Sandy safely off. When my aunties and grandma came back they were crying - all three. As Sandy said goodbye she had clutched them tightly, crying, and saying, "You saved my life."
It was the only time I've ever seen my grandmother cry.
Me: I'm not in pain, I'm just kind of uncomfortable and annoyed.
Hannah: That's called a normal period.
Saturday, November 17, 2012
Many moons ago I was a 3-year-old in love with my older sister. She was my favorite person in the entire world and I would have sold my "beautiful blond hair" to be exactly like her. She liked me a lot too - until my mother naively allowed me to sit beside them while Mom taught Sarah to read.
Sarah has dyslexia and I don't. No one new this at the time, so just by sitting with them I learned to read within a few months, while Sarah didn't learn for another couple of years. It was at this point that Sarah decided she hated me, and she would continue to hate me for the next 15 years.
About a week ago I wasn't using my brain and I recounted this old family story to my 5-year-old niece who is currently learning to read. Tonight she popped in one of her reading videos, and after a few minutes I heard her say, "Mommy, you need to listen to this. You need to learn the sounds so you can learn how to read better and you can like Aunty Rachel."
When my Grandpa Ray had just started dating my Grandma Lois, Grandma took Grandpa to meet her mom - my crazy Great-Grandma Effie Mae. First thing GG did was whip her boob out of her dress, look my grandpa in the eye and say, "My husband says I have the breasts of a 16-year-old."
February will see me to 31, and I have no problem with that. I didn't have a problem with 30, or with 29 before her, so why should 31 be any different? I don't agree with the phrase "age is just a number" because I definitely experience different things with different ages...there are biological realities that simply pay no attention to cliches, and these things must be faced and, to some extent, embraced. But I don't get panicky over the passing years or my changing body, so growing older doesn't bother me. I like birthdays. I like birthday presents. I like birthday cards. (February 22, ya'll.)
The one thing that never changes as I age is my older, married, female friends' conviction that I'm going to get married someday. I have reconciled the possibility of "spinsterhood" for myself, cause, frankly, I may not get a spouse. I mean, I just might not. I'm nearly 31 and no prospects*. And for me, that's okay. I'm okay with my marital status. But when I make comments like, "Well, I may not get married," my older, married, female friends jump in with
"Oh no, I'm sure you will!"
and
"I don't think singleness is what God has for you!"
and
"Don't worry honey! There's someone out there for you!"
I...don't know how to respond. I'm content; don't steal my peace. Cause really sweet friends, I simply might not get married. And I am perfectly, 100% fine with that. Please let me focus on my present and not be distracted by a future that may never happen.
*A word to my friends: do not suggest online dating. Just don't. Just.don't.
[C]onfronted with sin in the world, we revert right back to God in punishment mode. Yep, Jesus forgave you but God is still really mad at you and He is going to get you. (From this somewhat dated but thought provoking blog post.)
An unexpected result of having surgery has been pretty intense emotional swings and a growing sense of social anxiety. I can't even go to the grocery store without getting all tense and freaked out, then I come home to nap it off.
I was quite confused by the new me, until my friend Sabrina made a stellar point:
"I had postpartum after two of my children," she said. "It sounds like postpartum." Which makes sense when you think about endometriosis. It is, essentially, a million little estrogen producers littered throughout your body. Take those estrogen producers away (i.e. have them surgically removed) and overnight your hormone levels are different.
Certainly my estrogen levels are healthier now than previously, but it's taking my body a minute to get used to it.
"Exasperated by the interim government’s failure to curb the militia brigades, thousands of civilians swarmed into the headquarters of several of them in Benghazi on Friday and forced their fighters to scatter — in effect, an angry mob demanding law and order."
Read the full story here.
I originally read about it on this blog I follow.
*As opposed to the Western world always rushing in and trying to play savior (i.e. from without).
Loving this song, though my version is off Christopher Miner's All Good Things Come from the Desert (not everyone likes his style, so I'm not recommending it unless you like a rough indie sound).
(though not all times)
I struggle to hold on
to all the good things
I believe about God.
It is rare I doubt the existence of God.
But,
the goodness of God,
the love,
joy,
peace,
patience,
kindness,
goodness,
faithfulness,
gentleness,
and self-control of God...
somehow that's just harder to believe at times.
So I throw my body around it,
and cling to it,
like a child around her Daddy's leg.
Only healthy Christians, those who see their basic needs are always met by Christ, can draw boundaries and enforce them with the love of Christ. (From his blog.)
Christian heroism, and indeed one perhaps sees little enough of that, is to risk unreservedly being oneself, an individual human being, this specific human being alone before God, alone in this enormous exertion and this enormous accountability.
My sister's birthday was Wednesday so my 5-year-old niece and I made cupcakes. These are the ones she decorated. We affectionately labeled them "poocakes" and Mom couldn't bring herself to eat one. :)
Yesterday was the 3 week anniversary of my surgery, and I'm still healing. This is hard for me. A voice in my head tells me I should be healed already, that surgery was all I needed to be okay, that wincing when pain hits makes me a big baby.
Lies. Damn lies. (Is that a quote, btw? In my head it is.)
A friend of mine who has had 14 surgeries (poor girl) reminded me today that my body is healing. I need to be kind to myself. I had major abdominal surgery! Of course my colon is still healing from where all the scar tissue used to be! Of course I still have pain where my appendix used to be! Her words were 'a cup of cold water in the night' to my brain and I feel permission to continue my convalescence, rather than pushing myself to start work again or pick my social life back up. I do not need to go to church on Sunday, I'm still healing. I do not need to go visit my ailing friend, I'm still healing. I do not need to go meet my other friend's new baby, I'm still healing.
It is totally normal to be 3 weeks in and still recovering.
"Annihilation itself is no death to evil. Only good where evil was, is evil dead."
"To wait is harder than to run, and its meed is fuller. "
"Self-loathing is not sorrow. Yet it is good, for it marks a step in the way home, and in the father's arms the prodigal forgets the self he abominates. Once with his father, he is to himself of no more account."
"God created me -- not out of Nothing, as say the unwise, but out of His own endless glory."
my surgical pain astounds me.
Ridiculous, considering my pain levels are miraculously so low that
when sitting still, I feel nothing.
Even walking, sometimes fine.
But if I move wrong and am reminded that my body is still in pain
I think,
"What??"
Like,
somehow,
magically,
only a week after major abdominal surgery,
I should be healed.
sitting on my rump
and being a big baby about recovery.
This pain is nothing compared to what I have had,
but it's still annoying not to be able to
sleep on my stomach
or
pick anything up
or
do my own laundry
or
drive anywhere
while my insides heal.
I do not rest easy. It is a discipline. I must learn.
I don't know the full details of the surgery, as I was super drugged for a day and haven't met personally with the doctor yet. He gave the information to my mom, but since she hasn't been reading up on and obsessing over endometriosis surgery for the past 5 months she doesn't really remember what he said. What I do know is that:
- They took my appendix. This was planned, because at the pre-op he said they often run into this problem with women with endo where their appendix bursts and the woman just thinks it's the endo/healing from surgery. Scary! So they took mine, which was good because it was "huge" and snaking around surrounding organs. I was probably very near a burst appendix and, knowing me and my family, would have just tried to suck it up and live with the pain. It coulda killed me.
- There was a lot of endo on my colon, as I already suspected. I think he got it. Mom can't remember, she just remembers he said there was a lot of "scar tissue" (endo) there. But he's a good doc and obsessed with getting it all so I'm sure it's gone.
- One of my ovaries was swamped in endo and now it is clean and fresh. Ready to drop eggs and make babies. Any takers?
Aside from that, my incision points barely hurt. The most painful thing has been the leftover CO2 (they blow your belly up) that hasn't fully worked itself out yet. I keep giving my family members the "privilege" of massaging it out of my shoulders, where it likes to rest. They've been more than affable about it. Alright, that's it for now. I'm a bit more coherent today than I have been, but my attention span at the mo is like that of a 5-year-old, so I'll post again after my appointment on Monday when I have more information.
This is one of my favorite things about California:
north to south,
no matter how hot the day,
the nights always bring relief.
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
I'm in NorCal now, at my Aunt Carol's house, my happy place. My nervousness has returned regarding the actual procedure, so please pray for me. I know I'm not the first person in the world to have surgery, and many of you reading this have gone under the knife yourselves, so sometimes it feels a bit silly to be so afraid. But did you know I've had two aunts die from surgery? One during; the other, a day later. I think more than anything this continues to be the main source of my fear. Well that and the thought of not being in control. I mean, just lying there, in a controlled sleep, while strangers cut into your naked body. It's just a weird thing, that's all.
It took me a long time to admit to myself how sick I actually was. I tend to think that I can do anything I try to do, and that I will be the best ever (A+++!), so it took the endometriosis getting really bad for me to acknowledge that I couldn't.
Couldn't keep moving forward.
Couldn't support myself.
Couldn't heal myself.
I finally did acknowledge my need (thank you, E.R. trip of 2010), but it still took months of living with my parents and working for them - even borrowing their vehicles since I sold mine in 2010 - before I internally defined myself as dependent.
I'm glad it was hard for me to embrace dependency, because dependency can be dangerous. Just as there are both healthy and unhealthy forms of independence, there are healthy and unhealthy forms of dependence. Healthy dependence says, "I need other people. I can't function autonomously. I am just one piece of a much larger whole and I need to learn to work in conjunction with all the other pieces." Unhealthy dependence says, "I'm going to let everyone else do all the work so I never have to face my fears or grow as a human being or contribute my share."
That second form is such a trap (and on a totally polarizing political note, is where welfare gets sticky for some people) because life is scary sometimes. It's scary to be an adult and have to stand on your own. It's scary to provide for yourself - to be the person in the job interview selling your skills and praying they're good enough for the employer. No one can prove yourself but you. Sink or swim, success or failure, no one can do it for you but you. So when you've been sick and gotten used to others providing for you - to never having to really be good at anything because the real adults around you were gonna take care of it no matter what - then health...freedom...independence...is scary.
And it's rushing upon me 860 miles per hour.
When surgery is past and I am recovered I will have nothing but myself standing between me and thriving. I am ready...like a woman is ready to give labor...like a soldier is ready to go into combat...like a virgin is ready to get married.
On Thursday of last week I was going to start a juice fast. I have to go all liquid the day before surgery and can't eat certain foods (like beans or red meat) for a few days leading up to it, so I thought, why not? I have to do this nasty bowel prep the day before surgery anyway (12oz Magnesium Citrate, 4 laxatives, 1 suppository, 2 enemas), so why not get my colon ready just a few days sooner? Make the bowel prep that much less painful? Explosive diarrhea isn't so bad if there's nothing to explode.
But I'm a stress eater. Not a sad eater - if you break up with me I'll just lose 10lbs and be hotter than ever . An I-just-quit-my-job-so-I-could-have-surgery-and-go-back-to-school-sweet-Jesus-where-am-I-gonna-get-an-income-in-two-months-? eater. Which is why I just finished an Udi's Gluten-free Pizza and two So Delicious Coconut Bliss Ice Cream Bars (seriously...like eating a giant frozen Almond Joy...)
Wouldn't it have been great if I had stuck to my juice fast on Thursday? Pressed in to the Lord and drawn comfort from Him? Mm? Yeah...well, as the French say, "Tant pis!"
So...TOMORROW! TOMORROW! I love ya, tomorrow... tomorrow I'll start my juice fast.
"I have decided," he said slowly, his head rolled back as he sat on the couch strung out on heroine, "to give your friend R.A. a chance." This, to my friend, his older sister, who told him she would, "Never do that to R.A." He's good looking. He's intelligent. He's a raging drug addict who sleeps with a loaded gun under his pillow. If he didn't love heroine more than food or family or life itself I might be willing to go on a date with him, but as is he doesn't have a snowball's chance in Phoenix. I'm no prize and I'm willing to overlook other people's issues, but I am not taking on a drug addict. I watched my sister go through that; not happening. Anyway it's a bit funny to think of a man lost in addiction giving a non-addict "a chance". I have to smile. And then I stop and think, "This is how we are with God." We are beautiful, no doubt. How couldn't we be? We're the Imago Dei, and as long as we bear His image we are beautiful, if broken, creatures. But God is too good for us. Yet we sit there in our self-addiction saying to God, "I have decided to give you a chance." How God must smile.
I was supposed to work this entire week but Dad doesn't need me so I am at home instead. The extra time to prepare for surgery is nice as I get my room in order (I moved all the furniture around and have made it as recovery-friendly as I can), but the fundraiser made around $2,000 less than my anticipated need and my own financial situation isn't strong because of being sick for so long, so missing my last week of work is a stretch.
However, on top of not working this week I also had to pay Dr. Cook the full amount for his cut of the surgery (paying the hospital et al comes post-surgery). The total amount? Two thousand dollars less than the paperwork said I'd be paying. Two thousand less than I expected to pay when Bekah and I came up with the fundraiser amount.
Is surgery the right decision? Well I would say Someone keeps opening doors in this direction...
"For he has, in the last resort, nothing to give us but himself." - C.S. Lewis "God is all I want. Jesus is truly all I have. I have nothing but Him. I have nothing but Him. And I want nothing but Him. He is everything. He is all I have. He is all I want. In the end, there is only Him. In the beginning, there is only Him. In the present, there is only Him. God is my marvelous Everything." - Excerpt from my journal, November 2010, on one of the most physically painful days I have ever lived through. "Therefore, since Christ suffered in his body, arm yourselves also with the same attitude, because whoever suffers in the body is done with sin. As a result, they do not live the rest of their earthly lives for evil human desires, but rather for the will of God." - 1 Peter 4:1-2 “Because almost everything—all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure—these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. … You are already naked.” - Steve Jobs ------- Pain gives you clarity. I don't want to have pain anymore, and even this past month, knowing full well it might have been my last month of pain, I still tried a new painkiller to avoid the inevitable (didn't work). But pain is so cleansing. I don't want pain. But it's so sight-giving. I want to live a life free of pain because pain is a hindrance. It's a hindrance to ministry. It's a hindrance to socializing. Sometimes it's even a hindrance to staying awake (even in the pain-free moments you suffer a lot of fatigue from having been in pain). Yet I would never trade the insights God has brought to me through the pain. That excerpt from my journal...what a defining moment that was! I'll never forget it for as long or as short as I live: the moment I truly, wholly understood that Jesus gives me Himself and nothing less. Nothing is lacking in my life, because I have nothing. The Lord took everything from me: health, financial stability, independence (that one hurt), my photographic memory (gone! that one hurt too). He stripped me of all I thought I owned, all I thought was mine, so that I could understand that He is the only thing that really belongs to me. I am my Beloved's and He is mine. I will die. Not even this body that I think so much and so little of is mine. I don't own it, don't possess it - it will be taken away from me someday. But I have everything because I have Jesus. And Jesus is all I have. So I look forward to being pain-free. But, ah, Lord, let me keep the clarity!
Today is my last Monday at work. Not just pre-surgery, but ever. A year and a half ago I came home from the Glorious NW to live with and work for my parents until I could somehow get the endometriosis under control. My favorite memory of the last five years is my first day back at work with my dad. It was a Saturday spent, just he and I, crating equipment. It was...restful to be in the comfort of the familiar with my dad. Machine shops are my childhood.
Even so, today is my last Monday. When we got in the car this morning Dad said, "It'll be weird..." and I knew what he meant. He meant "There have been things about this past year and a half that have been great. I love having my children work with me and care about my business. I know you need to move on, but part of me is really gonna miss this". At least, that's what I meant when I responded to his unfinished sentence with, "I know".
But the surgery is going to bring me healing and I can move forward. I know machine shops, but I don't know machining. Really...I suck at it. I have a fantastic work ethic because of my dad, but all the ethic in the world will never teach me to hold the measuring tools correctly or give me the strength to lift the heavy stuff (and there is a lot of heavy stuff around here!). This was always going to be temporary. Still, I'm kind of sad this morning.
1. Biblical inerrancy: what it means, what it looks like, what you do with the weird passages, etc. There are a couple of interesting books I've heard about recently that I want to get my hands on.
2. Cults: my dad and I think we know someone stuck in a cult so I want to reeducate myself in this area. Waaaaaaay back in my early adulthood I did a lot of study on this topic, but that was a long time ago. I'm starting my research on this website, and would also like to maybe take a trip down to San Juan Cap while I'm recovering.
3. Anatomy & Physiology: I'm going back to school to be trained as an ultrasound tech and this is one of the first things I would need to take as a pre-req so I'd like to prep myself a little before taking the actual class. I have a book...I just need to read it.
Isn't that always the way though? I have a book, I just need to read it.
Here's the thank you note Bekah is posting through Give Forward. Some of you gave anonymously, so I'm also posting it here since I can't thank you personally. You guys are amazing!
Dear friends,
I'm sorry I didn't get this thank you out sooner, but how do you thank people for something so important? I am really blessed by all of you - though the Give Foward website doesn't reflect it, some people also gave to me personally, and with all the gifts combined you guys raised over $8,000 for me! That's monumental, and I am extremely grateful. If you guys hadn't pulled together and been so gracious, I would've had to wait at least one more year before I could afford surgery. So thank you. Thanks for caring about me. Thanks for helping me in my greatest hour of need. This experience of opening up about the disease and accepting help from my community has grown me in big ways and helped me understand how we ought to care for and interact with one another. I am really overwhelmed. Really and truly. I mean, $8000! That's a lot of love. :)
Bekah will continue to post updates on the Give Forward website and on Facebook if you would like to hear how surgery goes. After all, you paid for it! Oh, and I also found out they record the whole thing and I get a copy, so in some ways you could see it as having funded a full-length motion picture. Movie night, anyone? ;)
Thank you again, so very much. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.
I know not all of my blog readers are really active in the blogging world, but in the theological blogsphere there's been a bit of a firestorm over a post that Jared Wilson wrote on The Gospel Coalition's website. I find the post generally uninteresting as it falls within the main themes of complementarian thought, to which I am not a subscriber, but basically he's arguing that men and women who step outside of conservative relationship roles are opening themselves up to rape fantasy. Whatever. We could take a week debating that, and it's not the point of my post. Rather I want to comment on the quote that generated the most heat:
"A man penetrates, conquers, colonizes, plants. A woman receives, surrenders, accepts." -Douglas Wilson
Mr. Wilson, how about instead we say a woman surrounds, entraps, takes hostages, and a man gives up and gives in to captivity?
Two sides to a coin, buddy Douglas. Two sides to a coin.
If your spouse is abusive,
leave.
Get out.
Stop enabling.
Your abuser is not going to change,
no matter how much you pacify.
In fact, the more you pacify,
the worse he gets because it makes him believe
that he has power,
that he has control.
Please, sweet sweet friend, leave
before it's too late.
"You have tasted of death now," said the Old Man. "Is it good?"
"It is good," said Mossy. "It is better than life."
"No," said the Old Man: "it is only more life."
The anonymous donors drive me crazy. Like, I get it. And I myself love that feeling you get from giving anonymously, like you're carrying a marvelous secret. But how I would love to be in on the secret! :0)
Due to logistics, Bekah extended the fundraiser one more day. It ends tomorrow at midnight, so if you still want to give you can! It's pretty amazing how far we've come. God is good! And so are my friends and family. Thank you!
Sorry I didn't post this yesterday. Looooooooooong day. We made about $350 at the yard sale. It's less than I've ever made at one of these things but I'm not upset about it. A few weeks ago I would have been, but God really is using this process to refine me. I am content and I am living in trust.
And the best part is that some of my friends donated really awesome clothes that didn't sell, so my wardrobe has expanded by two weeks. :)
Okay, I hate having my blood drawn. I don't mind needles, but I hate blood. Bleh. *shudder* So I'm getting my blood drawn this week and I'm waiting in the waiting room and I keep seeing this phlebotomist come out to the desk area to do paperwork and such. And he's creepy and he's the leering type and I just pray, "Please Lord, please! Don't give me that guy!"
And God took it a step further when He answered my prayer (with an "Okay beloved Rachel, I won't"): He gave me a phlebotomist who had such bad endometriosis at one point in her life that she had to quit her job. Then she had surgery and now she is better.
"Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life."
A few weeks ago I got this verse. Like really got it, heart, soul, spirit. And this morning I realized, how blessed am I that at such a young age God let me get it? There is no where to go but God; seriously, everything else is empty. I mean, seriously.
White cake with vanilla filling and plain buttercream frosting. I thought there should be some chocolate in there, but not my day so not my choice! (Though I did sneak some in by frosting the extra sheet cake in chocolate buttercream.)
In less than 24 hours my sister had a baby, my favorite second-cousin got himself engaged, and I found out one of my close friends is moving to my city this Friday.
Good, good week! :) Happy 4th (tomorrow) everyone!
Seriously, watching that girl come out of her marriage is like watching a friend leave her abusive man that you've never liked. Maybe she'll start smiling again.
BUT
I am quite upset that the Supreme Court upheld the part that said it is mandatory for Americans to purchase health care. The entire ACA wasn't bad; that part was.
This weekend was a good reminder of why I'm getting surgery. Months ago I volunteered to make my friends' wedding cake. They're young and fresh out of college and I like to do that for people who don't have tons of cash. So they're getting married today. And sitting on the cake table is a gorgeous cake with gorgeous flowers that I poured probably 15 hours of my life into and I desperately hope they like it.
But I'm not at the wedding I was supposed to attend. And my dad had to drive me there and stand by my side while I set up the cake. And the cake itself looks different from what the bride and I discussed. Because. Because yesterday, cake-frosting day, I unexpectedly started my period and was laid up for hours and was crying in the bathroom half the night and have been hugging my heating pad to my body as if to let go would be to lose my soul.
I don't want to miss anymore weddings.
-----
PCIP: Pre-existing Condition Insurance Policy. This is a government insurance policy I was told about recently.
I applied, was accepted, and
they'll be coving about $10,000 of my surgery expenses!
What a blessing from our sweet God. My sister Bekah will be changing the fundraiser to reflect the new projected cost of the surgery, so stay tuned for that. I'll still need somewhere between ten and fifteen thousand from my end, so if you're still thinking of donating please do! And thanks to those who already have. As strange as it sounds, I can't wait to have surgery!!
(PS I'll post a picture of the cake sometime. Right now I'm going back to my heating pad. :)
I'm not huge into conspiracy and naysaying, but this video is really important. I worked for a soil and groundwater testing and cleanup agency for 2 years, and I can tell you - these levels of metals in the soil and water are neither safe nor normal. Climate manipulation and geoengineering are stupid and dangerous.
I've always rushed headlong into life without stopping to catch my breath and never had a hard time making a decision; I know what I want, I go for it. Then life got messy and I had to go to the ER for my endo and I suddenly realized that I'm not invincible and my "life is a grand adventure and I can do anything I set my mind to" mentality flipped, like a coin, to "I'm too sick to even commit to doing dinner with you tonight so let me go hide in the closet for a while". I find myself internally backing out on decisions I've made for myself. Two days ago I was sold; today I want to run back into the secure arms of the status quo and pretend like I've always wanted to be there. I hate being this old while being so completely dependent on my parents...yet at the same time I never want to leave their house, never want to work for anyone else, and always want to act like I'm 14. I don't like this post-ER me.
My appointment with Dr. Cook went well. He determined that I probably have only stage II or III endometriosis, but he's pretty sure not stage IV. This is good. It means the surgery should be shorter and less complicated. We scheduled it for August 9th, which is rushing upon us relatively quickly. I can't wait to be in recovery, I can't wait for this thing to be over. One other really good thing I found out was that I can get disability during my recovery period. I initially thought I'd only be missing 2 weeks of work post-surgery, but was informed that it's more like 4-6. That's way too many weeks to do without an income, so receiving disability checks is fabulous.
*** Warning: This part of the post is graphic and weird and contains words like "ovaries" "vaginal" and "uterus". Read at your own risk. ***
The exam itself was quite traumatizing. A pelvic ultrasound is an internal one. They pull out this ultrasound wand that's quite a bit bigger than a tampon, and up it goes! So you're lying there, naked but for a paper robe with your legs spread and a stick up your vagina, speaking calmly and professionally with the male doctor about what he sees on the ultrasound monitor. Dr. Cook was so nice and apologetic the whole time - in no way creepy about it - but that doesn't do much to minimize the weird horror of the experience.
In the middle of the procedure I had this strange "ah ha!" moment. See, I don't really think about having children. The only time in my whole life I've actually visualized being pregnant is when I've woken up from one of those pregnancy nightmares (*shudder*). I hate those. I know I'm a woman, I know I'm expected to have kids someday, but this isn't something I think about - ever. Even at 30, my biological clock has not yet started ticking. So Dr. Cook moved the wand around to see different parts of my insides, and he explained what each thing was as he went. First he showed me my uterus. Then he showed me my ovaries, one at a time. The second ovary had a strange dark spot on it, which concerned me, until he explained that it just meant I would be ovulating from that side this month and that, in fact, it was getting ready to drop an egg.
And I thought,
"WOW."
Beat.
"I really AM a woman."
Beat.
"I could make a baby RIGHT NOW!"
So.bi.zaare. I could have made a baby this weekend. My body can make babies. I know women can make babies, but this is me. I can make babies. My body does all the normal things that every woman's has throughout human history. Weird, weird, weird. Even stranger is that one, solitary egg that positioned itself so perfectly to be inseminated will never become a person.
Think of all the wasted babies.
Think of all the millions of eggs that never get made into people.
Think of the one-in-a-gazillion chance that an egg will be fertilized.
Think of yourself, and how that one-in-a-million egg met that one-in-a-trillion sperm and became YOU.
It seems so desperate, so lonely, that poor egg crying out "make me into something!" then just finding itself flushed out the birth canal and down the toilet.
Her entire post can be found here, but here's a quote that strikes at the heart of one of the main reasons why complementarianism is so frustrating to me:
At its heart, the modern “biblical womanhood movement,” as embodied by the Council on Biblical Manhood and Womanhood and organizations like it, is not really about returning to a biblical lifestyle; it’s about returning to an idealized vision of pre-feminist, 1950s America that relegates a woman’s identity to her roles as wife, mother, and homemaker. Far from being counter-cultural, it is profoundly cultural, in that it emerges as a reaction to feminism and finds its ethos in nostalgic esteem for a specific time in American cultural history.
There's this guy named Mr. Snowman.
In reality he's probably a woman,
just like our cat Mr. Tumnus was really a girl.
But
his name is Mr. Snowman nonetheless.
My sister Bekah* and I have this joke where we hide him for each other.
The best I ever did was empty her room of all furniture while she was away. She returned home to Mr. Snowman standing alone in an empty bedroom.
The best she ever did was this weekend. So I'm waiting for Dr. Cook to come into the consultation room. He knocks on the door, peeks his head around the corner and says, "Rachel? I think I ran into someone up here** who knows you!" I was confused - why would my name even come up between my doctor and some random person living in Los Gatos? Then he pulls Mr. Snowman from behind his back. I died.
How am I ever gonna beat that one?
*The sister who started the fundraiser and who lives on the other side of the country from me.
**My doctor is 300 miles from where I live.
For all the negative words I could use to describe myself, anger is not one of them. I get moody, yeah, and can seriously grump out when things aren't going my way (working on that!) but anger...that's a relatively unfamiliar emotion to me, especially when it shows up in the form of rage.
I mean, Rage. Like the Hulk. Like Mark Ruffalo terryfing the shiz out of Scarlett Johannson at 30,000 feet then falling to the ground and surviving. Like blood and fear and anger and hate speeding through your veins and enlarging your heart and brain til you think your body will burst with the pressure.
Rage.
In 29 years of life I never felt Rage, but at 30 it's my new worst enemy. I don't think it's biological, I think it's because when I hit 30 my world was falling apart - I was half-raising my sister's kid while bringing in less money than my bills were taking out and my pelvic pain was getting steadily worse even while I was doing more and trying more and spending more than ever to try and make it better. I felt trapped in a cyclone of worse, and then the cyclone became me, and now, I am the cyclone.
I am not enraged about having to have surgery.
I am not enraged that my sister returned and is being a mom again without acknowledging what she did to the family.
I am not enraged that I don't make much money.
I am not enraged that I felt, and feel, stuck.
I am enraged that that dbag cut me off in traffic.
I am enraged that we're out of dish soap.
I am enraged that the new guy at work won't put the lid down - even when asked.
Like, that's the thing about Rage - it doesn't make sense. You think you're working on all the hard emotions that arise with hard circumstances, but all of a sudden you're having a screaming fit in your car because the grocery store was out of your shampoo.
Really? Shampoo?
No, not shampoo. This is really about the fact that I never got a thank you from my sister. This is about the fact that I am scared shitless about surgery - so, so, so, so scared. This is about the fact that surgery is really expensive and I've already poured approximately $15,000 and 10 years into trying to get better and the weight of all that money is making me tired. This is about thinking I'm taking my worry and stress and sorrow to God when really I'm just holding it behind my back while smiling and saying, "Here you go, Jesus. It's all yours."
I need your prayers. And please - if this has happened to you, please please leave a comment on how you dealt (still deal?) with it.
It's been exactly a week since my sister started my surgery fundraiser. That small action has called up a perfect Pandora's box of stuff for me to deal with. I want to talk about it here for two reasons: 1) Naming an issue helps you move past it. 2) I said I wanted to help raise awareness about this disease. I meant it, and chronicling my experiences might help bring awareness not just of the disease itself, but of the emotional side to it.
I have a lot of shame over this illness. I don't think I realized how much until everyone I knew suddenly knew that I had it. I've been thinking a lot about the sources of that shame and I think it stems from:
Not being believed for the longest time ("You're just being dramatic" "Everyone has pain sometimes." "Just drink more water." "Is something else going on in your life? Should I prescribe Zanax?")
Not being healed yet, despite many efforts, many doctors, many dollars spent, and way too many medications and supplements.
The intimate nature of the disease. This has been a huge source of embarrassment for me ever since I started having symptoms. Do I want you to know I missed that church event because I was in pain? No, because now you know that I was on my period during said church event, cause my period is the source of my pain.
Missing out. A friend of mine once described me as an IOU. Ouch. I should just muscle through this, right? Make myself go to things even though I'm in pain? I also look flaky because, besides missing events I say I'll attend, I now have a hard time committing to anything just in case that day is one of the days.
Being weak. I have five sisters. I'm the only one with this condition. I'm also the only one who's ever needed surgery for an illness rather than an accident. I.don't.like.this.
Those are the main sources of my shame, and here are the truths I've been trying to tell myself to combat that shame (you could be praying these things for me too - and speak them over other women in your life who have similar diseases!):
On not being believed: I don't need other people's approval. I know this pain is real. And I know that many other women have had similar experiences to mine in not being believed at all, and not even being diagnosed until they were 10 or 12 years into the disease. I am not alone in this. One story I remind myself of is my friend's mother-in-law, Sara. She's from an older generation where this disease really wasn't understood or tolerated. Doctor's not only disbelieved her, they put her on anti-psychotics. She became an alcoholic to deal with it all (the physical pain of endo and emotional pain of being thought of as insane). Finally in her 40s, a doctor knew what was going on, told her about it, and performed surgery for her. After the surgery he gave her photos of her diseased organs and wrote in Sharpie all across the top, "Sara's NOT crazy!" (And if that story doesn't make you cry, I don't know what will.)
On not being healed yet: God has a plan. The outpouring of love I've had from friends, family, and perfect strangers since deciding to have surgery has been so healing to my heart. It's a long story, but the love of others is healing me from several years of heart-breaking events. If I didn't need surgery, I would never have experienced this outpouring. God is good.
On the intimate nature of the disease: Women have periods and everybody poops. GET OVER IT.
On missing out: I may have looked flaky all these years, but I'm not a flaky person. I am incredibly committed to everything I do. In fact, I had to quit college on two separate occasions because of health and finances (which go hand-in-hand) and both times went back to finish, completing my B.A. in linguistics in 2010 at the age of 28.
On being weak: We are all weak, we're all just pretending not to be. We are all mortal. We are all needy. It is good to have a physical reminder that turns me to the Lord. Not everyone has that blessing!
Alright, lunch is over and I have to get back to work. Later this week I'll post again about shame in asking for help.
decided to have surgery, which I've been trying to avoid for more than half a decade
made a video talking about my chronic pain and posted it publicly on YouTube for the entire world to watch if they wanted
asked everyone I know for money for myself, and
sat back and watched this unbelievable response of love and support from them
I'm a processor who journals or blogs her brains out about everything. Just one of those bullet points listed above would require a month, at least, of processing. And all 4 have happened within the span of a few days. I'm a bit on overload right now, like that little colored spinning wheel that pops up when your Mac just can't handle all you're asking of it. Can't journal. But it's been great for working out. ;)
On May 11th I swallowed a pill called Pride
and asked all my friends and family to help me pay for surgery.
And I thought that was painful.
Then they started giving,
and my heart didn't know if it was soaring or sinking.
The love of others is a magnificent burden;
heavy in a good way, like a thick blanket in the middle of winter.
Or,
like a wave pulling you under and flipping you over,
making you realize how tiny you really are.
Or,
like that moment on the roller coaster...
the one where you tip the edge and start going down really fast.
Thank you for turning me upside down,
inside out;
for wrapping your arms around me,
and making me realize how good it is to need you.
So I'm moving forward with the endometriosis surgery and my sweet sister Bekah threw together a fundraiser page for me to help me pay for the surgery (it'll be about $23,000 and I do not have insurance!). She had me put together a little vid talking about my experience with endo. So...here I am, at 2:00am, talking about endo. Enjoy:
My 5-year-old niece gets frozen yogurt as a special treat when she's been exceptionally well-behaved or has helped out around the house or whatever.
Her favorite is Yogurt Mania.
She always slips and calls it Romania.
"Can we go to Romania now?"
Yes. Yes we can.
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Previous experience and a blog that I had to kill before its time have taught me that blogging late at night when I'm emotional and tired isn't a good idea.
But what the heck...I'm gonna be stupid for a bit.
Twenty-four days ago I posted on the goodness of God. Yesterday I was yelling at Him about how I feel unloved and don't feel I can trust Him. The change came because Monday I decided to get surgery. Surgery has been my dying option - I will try every road, every method imaginable in order to avoid going under. But 13 years of pain and it only worsens. I have little glimpses of getting better, like Lewis talks about his wife having several "miraculous" remissions. I've had those too. In fact, my entire year in Kentucky when I was 22 was characterized by zero symptoms. And last month was brilliant - half the pain of usual (which is saying a lot when your pain is at a 9 out of 10), making me think that maybe my dietary changes were making a difference after all. But this month was unbearable; I almost asked Mom to take me to the E.R. The only reason I didn't was that I finally stopped throwing up...and I believe the only reason I finally stopped throwing up was because I sent out a mass text to everyone I know who takes prayer seriously and asked them to pray for me.
Then I praised God for keeping me out of the E.R.
Then I yelled at Him the next day for not making me better.
Have I written this here before? My income has been consistently below the poverty line for the last 5 years because of missed days at work from the endometriosis. Have I written this here before? I don't have insurance because of the endometriosis. I know I haven't written this here before: those two stated realities mean that I'll have to take out a personal loan to in order to get surgery.
And the surgery is only effective 40% of the time. So I'll be taking out, say, a $20,000 personal loan so that I can stop missing days of work in order to get a surgery that might not work. In essence, I may be screwing myself.
I've never wrestled with God's love for me before, and it seems childish that I should start now, over an illness. But I'm worn down, my friends. Endometriosis pain is more severe than the pain of a woman in labor. And I have four days of it. Every.month. And I've had 13 years of it. And I've tried every non-surgical remedy in existence, and I've considered getting knocked up like that one doctor told me I should. Yeah,
"Hey baby,
I brought you into this world just to make my body feel better,
but I didn't really want you
and I didn't like your daddy very much either."
Yeah.
No.
I know other people suffer worse than I do. I know I have it pretty good, considering I have a dad who's self-employed and is letting me live in his house rent-free and work for him while I try to sort out my shit. I know I am blessed to live in the U.S. with running water and flushing toilets...imagine the women who live in the bush and have endo...poor things. I have a soft bed and a heating pad and filtered water and a cell phone with which to text my mom downstairs when I run out of said water and need more but am in too much pain to walk. Really...in the land of disease and suffering, I don't have it so very bad.
But I'm tired. And I don't understand. And I feel like I have no future. And I feel like even my present is being stolen away from me. And I wonder why God hasn't healed me or allowed one of these other methods to work. There's so much I want to do, so much life to live, and my dreams aren't selfish. I know other people who have been miraculously healed from the worst of diagnoses. Yet here am I, constantly moving in the direction of worse. And I question God about it. And I know the right answers.
My sister and I were talking tonight about letting go of dreams and submitting to what God has instead. As I'm sure you've all experienced, there's a lot of bad theology on this subject and it's easy to beat yourself up for not being submitted enough, for still holding on to what you want for your life rather than what God wants, yada yada. Conversely, I've heard too many sermons about pursuing dreams that have been preached in a very American, me-centric tone. Like, God created you with this passion and this dream, so of course it's what you're supposed to do and of course He will bless it. As if.
Personally and realistically, I never can "let go" of my dreams because some of them are as much a part of me as breathing. I breathe without thinking about it. Similarly, without even thinking about it I imagine myself being a foster parent, or serving lattes and directing employees at my coffee shop, or finally publishing a novel. These thoughts enter my head without me evaluating them or conjuring them up; they're just there, growing, always, as much a part of me as the fingernails that have to be trimmed every week and the hair that has to be washed. If I don't trim my nails or wash my hair I start getting kind of gross; equally, if I don't rein in the thoughts of my future they start making me discontent with my present.
Because of this I think "letting go" is a bad analogy in the discourse on life goals. Submitting to what God has for you isn't about letting go of your dreams, it's about not letting them rule you. It's accepting that your dreams might not happen; not to let go of the dreams themselves, rather letting go of the bitterness that threatens to steal your joy if they don't come to pass. It's controlling the dream, not letting it control you. It's making the dream submit to reality, like a car that just wants to move forward still submits to the pressure of the break pedal. Dreams have no shadows. They are shiny and perfect and even the conflict within them is completely controlled and created by the dreamer. Reality is sweat and blood and tears and pain and wrinkles and varicose veins and stretch marks and coffins and Los Angeles traffic. Dreams are important and they move us forward so we musn't let go of them, but if we do not control them they'll drive us straight off a cliff.
I removed this username from my abolition blog. It was a scary moment in my life, completely separating the personal me from the professional. But it was for a good reason: I have a brand new MacBook Pro with Final Cut Pro X (woot!), whose sole purpose is to work on that blog. Thus I decided to sever my personal bloggy life from my important bloggy life. My faithful old MacBook, which I purchased before they even came out with Leopard, will be dedicated to personal stuff: emails, blogging, Pinterest (Pinterest!), and mindless hours of Wikipedia surfing. But the new Mac...ah! How much more I'll get done if when I sign in to blog I'm not also seeing updates from the 80+ mom-blogs I follow! This, my friends, is monumental. And if you follow the other blog, exciting things are in the works!! Can't wait.
I do think my dietary changes are helping my pain.
It was only half as bad this week as it usually is,
which is to say, pretty good in comparison.
::But::
"the last mile's the longest" is a true statement.
This verse has been ringing in my head these past two very busy weeks. My hands are finding new things to do around every corner - things I never thought I would pursue. Quickbooks, as I take over the finances at work. Mazatrol, as I learn to become a real machinist, and not just a button pusher. Engaging with the unexpected blessing of adolescent step-nieces and nephew as they try to find their way in a new state. All of these things cause a little bit of fear and trembling as they don't swing in the direction of my natural gifting. But God has put these tasks into my hand; in His strength, I can do it.
Wesley practised daily devotions throughout her life, but, shortly before her death, she wrote to her son Charles, admitting that she had struggled with doubt throughout her life and only now had finally found peace in her faith.
For one who struggles and doubts, this is comforting.
My dad thinks the fact that I don't eat meat is killing me faster.
I think the fact that he eats dairy is killing him faster.
The truth is, fast or slow, we're both dying anyway.
I learned when I was three that the place where ink and paper meet is magic. You don't need an old Uncle Andrew Ketterley to send you to another world, you just need a good book. The problem is, all the best books have moments where the characters eat food. This never used to bother me - I even sometimes skipped scenes where a bunch of food was described because they bored me. But then I was told there was all this food I couldn't eat...and when you abstain from something, that thing becomes so much more important to you.
I was patient and submissive about it for twelve years, complaining rarely and telling few people. Somehow I just can't handle it anymore. No cure...no helpful pain remedies...missed days of work...missed social events...missed service opportunities...and a biological guarantee that it's going to hit me again and again and again...never knowing quite when...but just knowing it's going to happen...a pain so uncontrollable you can only go through it....no stopping or ignoring it...just wrapping your arms around its fierce angry body while your brain screams louder and louder at you "I can't do this anymore. I can't do this anymore.I CAN'T DO THIS ANYMORE!!" The pain laughing in response, "Oh yeah? Well you're gonna...againandagainandagain..."
I hate this part of my life and have lost my ability to cope. Hope is fled like a startled spider scrambling back into the shadows of its web. I know of a woman who killed herself because of it. I'm not suicidal...but oh, how I understand that level of desperation. I just don't know what to do.
I like to do things fast. Carpool lane. Audubon. Speed. Ya know.
I don't like getting behind a blue-hair driving a beetle.
The same applies to personal growth; there's no reason it should take years...
right? Riiiiiiight.
But when you drive to your destination, all you get to see is the bumper of the guy in front of you.
When you walk, you get a chance to see the flowers growing out of the sidewalk cracks.
who know how to say just the right thing when I'm feeling down, or
make me angry by addressing my issues and expecting me to work on them, or
simply stay silently by my side through the days and nights as we age together.
your younger sisters are watching a Disney Channel t.v. show and when the dad walks on screen the words "He's hot" tumble out of your mouth before you have time to realize you just admitted you're getting old.
that I didn't get attacked by a man with an ax,
that the children in my life weren't poisoned at the park,
that my dad has not suddenly dropped dead of a rare disease,
and that my thumb wasn't chopped off when I was using the bandsaw "like that kid's in high school was."
Oh, and that the world hasn't been destroyed by the Daleks. But that's a given.
