But how nice is my new brace
compared to the old gross one?
...or a blog about.
I've really got to stop jinxing myself, right?! So, as luck would have it (typical), in February, after rejoicing in this blog about not going to the hospital for all of 2014, joking with friends about how we should go to the Texas State Fair and bring my scooter for old times sake, and gloating that I didn't need to wear a brace anymore over an email from the company that makes my ankle braces stating I was due for a new one... I'm back in a brace and on crutches and making up for missed socializing at the local orthopedic unit.
My ankle may be jacked (in a bad way), but so are my arms (in a good way) so my gun show is bringing all the girls to the yard, at least.
Turns out, I cannot fly, or walk on air, but I like to learn things the hard way, so I unwittingly had to test out that theory. In the middle of a crowded bar. In front of TWO casts of shows I was working on. In the middle of an extremely busy period of my life. It's how I do.
And my prize was torn ligaments in my ankle and a bump on my head! Not the golden goose I've earned in the past, but the most excitement my body has seen in a while, by far.
Yes, I had to order another ankle brace. A silver lining is that with it I can't actually put my foot in my mouth!
But, hey, if this is the worst I've got going for me right now, I'll take it. It's not even a big deal that I caught a sinus and respiratory infection at the same time, either. I just keep thinking to myself that this is nothing and it's been one hundred thousand times worse than this and WOW, look how far I've come and how good it's been for a while now, and if it takes a spill down some dark stairs to remind me how fucking rad my life is, I'll roll with it.
And roll with it, I shall, while eating my words about being back in a scooter.
While playing croquet with friends for my 30th birthday.
30: That's how old I'm turning this year.
4.5: That's how many years since my diagnosis.
21,000: That's how many times this blog has been read (if you include the hits to the original page)
Zero: That's how many times I visited the hospital last year.
Zero: That's how much Aspergillosis is in my blood, marrow, or spinal fluid.
A trillion: That's what I'm one in.
Twenty Fifteen: Never thought I'd see it.
Never imagined I'd be rounding the corner on Thirty. Never, in a million years. And here I am. Against all odds.
And I'm healthy. Last year I had a few colds, stomach bugs, headaches, and ear infections, but nothing to write home about. I don't think I've been that healthy since I was probably 15.
And I'm happy. In the last year, I've been emotionally, mentally, spiritually more happy than I've ever been. And I'm doing things that make me happy and trying to surround myself with people that make me happy. And trying really hard to be a source of happiness for others.
And I'm healing. I can jump and jog and breathe. I don't physically hurt as much, anymore. And I'm letting go of anything that tied me down, whether it's people, or situations, or the past.
I'm free. For the first time ever, I'm actually free.
2015, I've got your number. It's going to be a great year!
Two years ago, on this day, my Grandmother, my Gran, Lorraine Marion Conyack Harle Yahn, left her tired, hurting body behind, released her physical tether to this world, and set off on the ultimate journey to the great beyond.
My earliest memory of my grandma is her driving me and my friend David to school. David lived across the street and he and I went to a Montessori kindergarten across town. David lived with his grandmother, he saw her every day, but this was the only time my grandma had ever taken me to school. She lived on the other side of the country, so this was an occasion, it was special. It was Christmastime and my parents were out of town. This would be the only time in my life I remember seeing my grandma during the holidays and the only time she was the sole caregiver for my sister and myself. Our relatives lived too far and flights were too expensive. Summers were for visiting. Holidays were for staying home. She would later tell me that her boss didn't want to give her the time off to come, but she came anyway, and was fired. She said she never regretted it, because she knew that it was important for her to make that trip and stay with us. It was just as special for her as it was for me.
I probably only saw her a handful of times over the next ten years, but she always called and sent cards on holidays and special occasions. Then when I was fifteen I went to the East Coast over the summer and stayed with various relatives for a few days at a time. It was the summer after my grandpa died and my aunts were still going through the house trying to clear it out, my grandma fighting them every step of the way. I was to stay with her a week and distract her while they threw out truckloads of old magazines, empty mayonnaise jars, my grandpa's lifetime supply of vitamins, and donated their own childhood toys and clothes and unopened items from The Home Shopping Network. One of the things we did was go see a movie, which neither of us had researched well, called Scary Movie. If I had to make a list of movies to never see with your grandmother, that would be one. Neither of us laughed, neither of us looked the other in the eye, neither of us ever spoke of the movie ever again.
I saw her more frequently after that, being older and having the means to travel to the East Coast to see her. Later in my twenties, I started calling my sister, my parents, and her, every Sunday. If I didn't call, when I awoke Monday morning there would be a voicemail from her berating me for not calling her. I hardly ever missed a call, but I still have a few of those messages saved on my phone. We talked about everything and nothing. I told her the zany things I was doing and the places I was visiting and she told me the things she or my mom, or aunts, had done when they were young. We laughed and laughed.
For her 80th birthday, a bunch of my family gathered in her town to throw a birthday party for her. She told me it was the best day of her life. On that day, we asked her questions about her life and sat around soaking in her answers. We knew they were important questions to ask and somehow we knew it was the last chance we'd have to ask them. We asked about her childhood, her loves, the places she'd visit if she had the chance.
"The rocky coast of Maine," she said.
That was the last time I ever saw her. But I had made her a promise.
"I'll take you there, someday," I told her. And so, I did.
That was two years ago, but this is the first time I've looked at the photos and videos. I wasn't ready until now. But today I'm also five years clean and sober, and I'm working on letting go of painful things I'm carrying around, or things I've put off because they'll bring about strong emotions. Today, something inside told me it was time to to visit the emotions around her death and let them go. So I'm doing just that.
I had two great friends with me on the trip, and the three of us and Gran had a blast. I could hear her laughter in the waves.
We took her to some local eateries for old fashioned ice cream and donuts.
We took her to beaches, lighthouses, and islands.
And then on the last day, I left some of her there, and some of myself, too, and brought part of Maine back with me.
I just watched the video of that moment, and it was simple and poignant, and the perfect send off to someone who will always be with me, no matter where I go.
Just like the trip Gran knew she needed to make to see me when I was young, this was a trip I needed to take with her, and it was the best promise I've ever kept.
“I wish you could have been there for the sun and the rain and the long, hard hills. For the sound of a thousand conversations scattered along the road. For the people laughing and crying and remembering at the end. But, mainly, I wish you could have been there.” -Brian Andreas, Story People
I was talking to a new friend last week about fear, having just watched Divergent with my roommate and being in the midst of another year of Delusion. If you are unfamiliar, in Divergent, people are placed into a video game-esque simulated situation within their own mind, where they must confront and conquer all their greatest fears, and Delusion is interactive horror theater where the audience must participate in order to advance the story. My friend mentioned the usual situations, like being trapped inside a car that is sinking in a lake, and then turned the conversation on me. The only thing that came to mind was getting sick again.
Most people fear outlandish or extraordinary circumstances that are highly unlikely and that they will probably never actually experience. My fear is something I've lived through. Something I'm familiar with. Something I'd be horrified to live through again.
And it has been on my mind, because my stomach felt ucky for over a week, which always kicks me into survival mode. I got it checked out, and, surprise, it's because I'm not eating the things I should be eating. I've gotten a little lax in my diet, and that's just inviting this junk to come back, so I'm cutting back again. Way to go, Genius.
That being said, I'm now realizing that what I told her wasn't the whole story. Yes, I'm afraid of having to tailor my life around this illness my whole life and I'm afraid of it always being in the back of my mind. But, I'm more afraid that I'm becoming bitter and resentful about it, and I'm afraid that I was actually a better person when I was sick. It's amazing how thinking you're dying changes your perspective.
Some of my closest friends have taken to jokingly point out when I say I don't like something, and it's upsetting to think that I've become one of those negative people. I've always been honest with my feelings, but I was never this vocal or curt in my life, even when I was in immense emotional or physical pain, and this is not who I want to be. I think I got to the point where I had nothing left to lose, and was so embittered about people not saying the things that needed saying when they had the chance, that I let my tact and grace filter out with the toxins in my blood, and now I'm left with a toxic viewpoint.
I thought I processed everything that's happened, but it's becoming apparent that I didn't and that is also scary. (I know it will take time and I'm working on it.)
I guess what I'm trying to say is that my fear is that I'm not allowing myself to be a better person after having lived through all this and if that's the case, then what was the fucking point? And even scarier, I know that there probably wasn't a point, because shit just happens, and I'm supposed to create a point, but I'm still so upset that it happened in the first place that I'd rather project that anger onto everything else in my life and poison the atmosphere around me than to fashion the point. And that is the scariest thing I can imagine.
I was given a second lease on life, and I'm happier than I've ever been in my life, so how dare I put out any negative energy! From now on, I'm going to stop saying I don't like things unless specifically asked and I'm going to start putting forth as much positive energy as I can muster. After all, you get what you give, right? I owe it to myself and to everyone around me. If I'm going to be a total asshole, then I may as well have just died. And that's probably the scariest thing I've ever written throughout this whole blog.
"Fear keeps us focused on the past or worried about the future. If we can acknowledge our fear, we can realize that right now we are okay. Right now, today, we are still alive, and our bodies are working marvelously. Our eyes can still see the beautiful sky. Our ears can still hear the voices of our loved ones." -Thich Nhat Hanh
Four years ago I went skiing for the first time and it forever changed my life. Little did I know that crossing that activity off my Bucket List would create an avalanche of misfortune, that would take me three years to claw my way out of, and would throw dynamite into the center of my life, destroying everything I revered, while creating a staggeringly beautiful new life as the ash settled.
I started this blog in June 2010 after being diagnosed with Aspergillosis, the result of falling on my face skiing, which I recounted two years later, if you care to revisit those narratives. Fast forwarding to a year or so after that, I was told that the fungus was no longer growing, and then a little time later, I was informed that my illness no longer posed an immediate threat but was still hovering on the horizon.
Then last year, I got some news that allowed me to let out the leaden breath that I had been holding in for the previous three years: my illness, the one I was never expected to survive, had subsided. I was not cured, per say, but the fungus was not active, and they expected it to stay that way indefinitely, which it has. It has been 8 months since then, and in that time I've had a few sore throats, ear infections, and upset stomachs, but no noteworthy active threats! While I still experience residual effects of the ordeal, they are now an integrated part of my life and no new problems have arisen. I've actually felt ALIVE, for probably the first time in my life.
If you'll recall, I got sober a few months before I got sick. It's one of those situations where my drinking habits helped create the situation that got me sick, getting sober kick started it, and on the other hand, if I hadn't been sober I wouldn't have survived, nor been able to emotionally handle it. Life is complicated and layered and oh so weird.
I feel like I've lived five lifetimes. I'm not the person I was a few years ago. That person wasn't really alive. That person was surviving. And when push came to shove and I was face to face with my addictions and my mortality, this me, the real me, fought like fucking hell to be alive and, let me tell you, it was worth it. I don't know if I would be this person if I wasn't an Addict/Alcoholic with Aspergillosis (that's a lot of A) or not, who knows. Maybe something else would have prompted the shift. I think this me was always there, flying under the radar and popping out from time to time, so maybe I just needed a stick of dynamite to get out. This is a really long-winded intro to what I'm really trying to get to...
When I shared that amazing, important news, I didn't know how to feel, or what to say, or how to be, or what to do. My life was moving really fast then and I wanted to grab as much of it as I could, because I could. So I pushed those feelings aside and went on with my days. Then yesterday, I spoke on the phone (can we take a moment to note the fact that the previous me NEVER spoke on the phone to anyone) with someone who went through a similar situation with their health and is also doing better these days, I learned of a young woman named Sarah Jones who tragically died while filming on location for a movie, and I looked at a calendar and realized today's date. Then I couldn't sleep. All the thoughts and emotions I'd been ignoring for the last 8 months caught up to me.
I think what I've figured out is that I don't have it all figured out, and that's okay.
I don't know why this happened to me or to others, or why some of us survive and some don't. I don't have anything profound to say today about my survival and there are even some days I completely forget that shitstorm even happened at all. There are other days when it's all I can think about, or other people in a similar situation come to me for advice and I don't know what to tell them. Some days I'm really fucking angry because health care in this country is a joke and because people in other countries don't even know what health care is. Some of the time I'm profoundly sad over the fact that my illness means I can never physically have my own children and other times I'm thankful to have something to blame if I don't actually want to have any. There have been days I was thankful for the things I've learned the last 4 years and days that I recounted all the things I have lost or missed out on.
I'm resentful toward myself for not having a more profound reaction to the news and I think part of it is fear that if I don't have death staring me directly in the eyes that I may lose my zest for life and start taking things for granted. I fear living a lackluster life far more than I fear dying. Now that I know what it feels like to be fully, deeply, really ALIVE, I'm afraid of losing it.
That's what I've been running from for 8 months: fear of losing my urgency to live. Now that I've admitted it, I am ready to confront it and I encourage all of you to confront what you fear. We can all help each other live life to the fullest, to do the things that make us happy, and to help others find and do what makes them happy. Deal?
I made an active decision along the way to find joy even in the bleakest moments, to find something to be grateful for every day, and to say no to things that don't make me feel alive. If I could turn on that mentality while writhing in endless physical torment, I guess I can summon it when I'm grumpy or uninspired. So, I guess the whole point I am trying to make is that I choose to be happy and I hope to continue checking that box every morning, no matter the circumstances. I hope you'll join me in doing the same.
I'm so grateful to be here and, as always, thank you for accompanying me on the journey.
“Have the courage to live. Anyone can die.” - Robert Cody
Quite a while, actually. Six months to the day. I've meant to write, really. That's what they always say. I guess, in this case, the "no news is good news" cliche rings true. I haven't written, because there hasn't been much to write about regarding my health.
These days, I'm doing the things I want to do and enjoying being healthier than I can remember being in many years. And also, I got tired of focusing so much on my illness, so I simply didn't focus on it as much, because I didn't have to. Obviously, it's always on my mind, and it still limits the way I do certain things, but there were so many other wonderful things to enjoy and be out doing instead of sitting at home writing.
Here's where I am with my health these days:
I still live with pain, every day, mostly in my bionic foot, joints, chest, and spine, but I've found that being busy and staying active helps. It could be that it loosens me up, or that I'm too preoccupied to dwell, but nonetheless, it helps.
I still spend 10 to 12 hours a day in bed, and a lot of my day sitting, but I'm still able to get done what I want to do for the most part.
I eat more things now, like some starches, and basically all nuts, and any fruit I desire, and sometimes (very rarely) even gluten and cheese (I usually pay dearly for it). Shocking, right? I still stay away from eating mammals, sugar (I've cheated a few times lately, not going to lie), soy, and fungus, I try not to eat anything modified or processed, and continue to get my blood tested. So far, so good.
I'm currently toying with adding honey, Agave, and certain types of chocolate to my diet, but I have a major sweet tooth, so the idea scares me.
And here's what I've been up to in the last six months:
I traveled to Boston, Rhode Island, Maine, San Diego, and San Francisco.
I spent time with people I care about, especially my entire family.
I was Box Office Manager for the interactive horror play called Delusion and met a bunch of celebrities like Laura Prepon, Nathan Fillion, Lance Bass, and Neil Patrick Harris.
I interned at GLAM Magazine and interviewed a bunch of people including Margaret Cho.
I booked guests, like Paula Patton, for a talk show and a radio show.
I went to tapings of a ton of game and talk shows such as Chelsea Lately and The Price Is Right.
I visited museums, parks, and galleries.
I went to a ton of concerts, plays, movies, and events.
I photographed premieres and red carpets.
I produced a reunion event for fans of South of Nowhere with the cast and crew.
I laughed and laughed and laughed.
And here's what is coming up in the next six months:
I'm turning 29- EEK!
My niece is turning 2.
My parents are coming to visit.
I'm doing Color Me Rad again.
My 3rd year on the red carpet at The Daytime Emmys.
On Monday, I had a colonoscopy, some more scans, another blood panel, and a bone marrow aspiration. I'd never had a BMA before and was pleasantly surprised that it was less of an ordeal than most people make it out to be and I conclude that I'd rather have one of those than a teeth cleaning.
They said I'd maybe hear back that afternoon or the next day, and I didn't. Then they called me at 7 am this morning (seriously?) to tell me the results. My Mama texted me the day of the tests to wish me well...at 5 am. Remind me to put my phone on silent tomorrow, will ya?
Anyway, turns out, there is no Aspergillus in my blood. Let me repeat that. There is NO Aspergillus IN MY BLOOD. One more time for effect: THERE IS NO ASPERGILLUS IN MY BLOOD!
There is also not any Aspergillus in my GI tract or my lungs, which I kind of suspected, since I hardly ever throw up or poo for hours anymore and I've been exercising without coughing up an octopus. And my white blood count is normal, which doesn't explain why I got the flu, but you can't win them all. And my intestinal flora is replenished, which again goes back to no rapid exits from either end.
There is still Aspergillus in my marrow, but it didn't actively show up anywhere else. We weren't really sure it would happen so soon, but the plan for the past two years has been to make my Aspergillosis go dormant. It looks like it is actually happening and I'll be able to continue my treatment as it is right now.
My life is INSANELY busy this week, so I don't have proper time to write about how I feel about this, or really even think about how I feel about this, so I'll have to revisit it soon, however, I will end with this: HOLY FUCKING SHIT! "We are here to laugh at the odds and live our lives so well that Death will tremble to take us." -Charles Bukowski
On Memorial Day in 2010, I was sitting on a couch at a barbecue, telling my friends about this crazy illness I'd just been diagnosed with and how I was meeting with a nutritionist the following week, who had told me not to eat any carbs, dairy, meat, or sugar until I saw her. As someone who lived on pie and BBQ, I found this cruel and unusable punishment for someone who was shitting blood and bleeding from their eyeballs. Hadn't I been through enough? That day, I ate a burger and some chocolate cream pie and that night I vomited until the sun came up. That was the last time I ate red meat or the real version of my favorite food.
I wish I could say that giving up pie was the hardest part of this journey, but in fact, it was one of the easiest. I have spent days wishing I would die because I was in so much physical pain that my eyelashes hurt, and nights scared to fall asleep because I wasn't sure that I would wake up in the morning. I've been poked, and stitched, and beaten to a pulp by doctors, hematologists, and physical torturists. I've had fluid in my lungs, and failing kidneys, and a foot that just wouldn't work. I had swelling in my brain, an infection in my jaw, and lesions that just wouldn't heal. I've had more procedures and surgeries than I can count. All of this was awful, and terrifying, and lonely.
Pie was the least of my problems, and yet it, and other food, was what I focused on, in the beginning. In the early days of this blog, I talked more about what I was eating, or not eating, or wished I was eating, than I did about about my illness. I focused on my diet because it was something related to my illness, but outside of myself. It was something I could control (to an extent). I could choose whether I ate broccoli or green beans, I could pick between almond milk (I don't like it) or rice milk, I decided how I was going to cook my eggs. I've never been very good at giving up control or doing what I was ordered to do, but after my diagnosis, I was left with very little choice; do what we tell you to do, or you will die. So I did, well mostly, and I didn't.
I never understood when people said that the terrible things that happened to them turned out to be the best, until it happened to me. I'm not even allowed to drink Kool-Aid, but if I could, I'd be chugging it. Everything I've been through for the past three years has made me a better person. Being on the other side of it, looking back, I see all that I have learned and overcome, and I am thankful. They say "you have to go there to come back." Well I've been there, I've set up camp there, I saw things there that changed me, and you bet your ass that I'm back.
I'm living a life I'm proud of, a life I never expected, a life that was created out of tough breaks, taking chances, happy accidents, hard work, and blessings.
I've said it before, and I'll say it again, I don't think all things happen for a reason, but I think reason can come from every happening. I think it's up to us to find the lesson in every struggle. I truly believe that pain is necessary for growth, and sometimes we focus so much on the pain, that we miss the lesson.
The biggest things I have learned from my journey with Aspergillosis are:
Find the humor in EVERYTHING.
A large part of the last three years has sucked, especially the first two years, and I learned pretty quickly that moping about it not only didn't change it, but actually made it worse, and made people not want to be around me. I had a choice to laugh or cry, so I laughed my ass off and encouraged others to do the same. I just threw up all over my car? That's hilarious! I just face planted for the 5th time today? That deserves a belly laugh! Lo and behold, the laughing made it bearable.
"If you’re going to be able to look back on something and laugh about it, you might as well laugh about it now." – Marie Osmond
Have faith that things will work out, but don't sit around waiting for them to. This anecdote will explain what I'm getting at. I choose to trust that whatever lies around the bend is what will be and what should be, but I don't wait around for it to come to me; I continue on my journey and meet it face to face. If along the way, another path presents itself, that I feel is a better option, or someone comes running around the bend telling me to run, or I stumble on something useful, I take those as signs, and accept whatever knowledge they offer. So far, I've made it around every curve.
"Keep on going and the chances are you will stumble on something, perhaps when you are least expecting it. I have never heard of anyone stumbling on something sitting down." -Charles F. Kettering Surround yourself with good people. I've had the luxury, these past few years, of seeing peoples' true colors. If you want to see what people are made of, tell them you have a horrific disease, and then wait to see who sticks around. The results are often surprising. There are people I was close to before who I haven't spoken to in years and there were people I hardly knew who came out of the woodwork.
These days, I only keep ties to people who add to my life and I let go of the ones who suck me dry. As I've figured out, life is so damn short, but can feel like ages if you're surrounded by the wrong people. We have a choice about who we allow in our lives and these days I keep company with incredible, inspiring, loving people.
Question everything, and if your heart doesn't agree with it, don't do it. Early on, my doctors wanted to admit me to the hospital for treatment, and I refused. I didn't tell a lot of people about that, until much later, because I knew what their opinions would be, however I was resolved in mine.
Having worked in a hospital, I've seen patients stuck in drab rooms for months or years, and watched many of them die, and I knew that it was just not an option for me. I still firmly believe that if I had checked myself into the hospital, that I would have never left. I absolutely was not willing to give up my life. If I was going to lose it, it would have to be taken from my cold, dead hand.
Now, there were days that I was at the hospital from six in the morning until ten at night, but I am proud to say, that I never, not once, slept there.
There is a little voice inside you. Maybe it's your soul, maybe it's your Higher Power, maybe it's your conscience, I can't be sure, but it whispers to you. Sometimes you don't like what it has to say, but if you listen, it will sing to you and then you'll know just what you should do.
“Re-examine all you have been told... Dismiss what insults your Soul.” - Walt Whitman
Let go. This can apply to all of the above, in some way. Let go and laugh. Let go and let God (or the Universe, or whatever you believe in). Let go of toxic people and situations. Let go of what you know isn't right for you.
It's also good to let go of trying to control everything because you can't. And it's great to let go of your ego, which I had to have smacked out of me- if I'd let go sooner, it would have been less painful.
Let go of the pain, regret, and the past. They are behind you, and if you keep reaching back and flinging them in front of yourself, you're just going to keep tripping on them. I was shocked to discover that once I let go of all the garbage that the space it left was filled with more light and love and life than I knew existed. Trust me when I say that if you let it go, you will be filled with more things of substance than what you gave up.
When all else fails, sing Showtunes! By the end of my iv and blood treatments, my healthcare team knew to have a device ready for me with some sort of musical queued. Sometimes that meant Disney movies, sometimes it was Broadway shows, sometimes it was box office hits- we watched them all. Most of the time we sang along, and sometimes we just listened, but they always made the time go by more easily. Music makes everything better and even in the worst of times, there is always a song that describes how your're feeling, or that can cheer you up- if you let it. My go-to is Michael Jackson's Will You Be There (from Free Willy)!
"Life is a shipwreck, but we must not forget to sing in the lifeboats." -Voltaire
It's been an incredible journey these last three years. If I could live through 2011 and 2012, I think I can do anything. So far, 2013 has been really good to me, proving that if you just hold on, things really do get better. During the worst of it, in the blackest, darkest moments, I kept my sights on the light at the end of the tunnel, and now I'm standing in the sun and things are going well. So whatever you're going through, and we're all dealing with something, know that you are strong enough to survive it and it won't always be like this. On that same breath, the good things won't always "be like this," either, so cherish them, tuck them in the corner of your mind so you can revisit them when things are tough. Make a mental playlist of what makes your heart sing and replay it when your heart is heavy.
That brings us to today, and an update. I had some blood work and scans done on Friday, to see where my health is since leaving The Bay back in November. The main thing they are looking for is how things are going with maintaining my current health, since I haven't been undergoing any aggressive treatment or blood filtering, just taking oral anti-fungals and monitoring my diet. If my levels have stayed the same, it is possible that I can go on, as I have been the last six months, for an extended period of time. What will be, will be, and no matter what the outcome, I'll keep singing.
As always, thanks for coming along on this journey. What I said after the first year still very much applies. I can't wait to see what's waiting around the bend.
I made it through this entire post and was about to publish it when I realize that I could throw in a Pocahontas reference!
"To laugh often and love much… to appreciate beauty, to find the best in others, to give one’s self… this is to have succeeded." -Ralph Waldo Emerson
Last month, my friend and I signed up for a color run, to take place next month, called Color Me Rad. The rad people at the run saw my post about it and sent me some free swag, telling me they were inspired by my story.
How rad is that?! Check it out! Thanks, Color Me Rad!
I've been trying to prepare for the run, seeing that the only physical activity I did for the last few years was Physical Torture (Therapy) and that ended over 6 months ago. I recently went hiking with some friends and landed in the hospital. Shocking, right? One day I'll learn... Probably not, but I'll keep saying it, anyway.
A friend of mine has been telling me about this great climbing spot and I've been dying to go, so we did. Only he didn't tell me what getting there entailed, and I didn't think to ask.
Idealistic, right?
I mean, look at this place; it's amazing! And it'd been a while since I hung out around a hospital, anyway- I was due for a visit.
To give you an idea of what I got myself into...
Steep hills
Traversing
*Blogger is being difficult and keeps re-sizing the section below.
In my defense, aside from the fact that I still continue to think that I am capable of doing the same degree of things I did before I got sick, our other friend was also unprepared for our trek. So there!
The hilly hike wasn't so bad. Neither was hopping across a stream on slippery, wobbly, rocks. Our climbing was moderate and I paced myself. The real clincher, and really, to be honest, my favorite thing about this spot, was that you have to climb along a rock wall, around a body of water, and make it across a six foot gap, to get to the climbing area. At the end of the day, when we were ready to head back out, and it came time to make it back across the gap, I was pumped (that's climber speak for exhausted and weak). I realized when I was half-way across, that I'd forgotten to stretch. Rookie mistake. By that point, I just powered through it. The hike back up the hill to our cars felt like Everest.
I stretched when I got home, but it's apparent now that I waited much too long. Oh, and that I overdid it. Hindsight is 20/20!
The next day my ankle was swollen and my thigh was tight, so I iced/heated it all day. The second day after, I couldn't bend my knee, so I stayed in bed with it elevated. The 3rd day after, my toes looked like sausages and my thigh was rock hard. That's when I decided to ask my Mama what she thought.
Cue the blood-clot scare. If I had a dollar for every time it's looked like I had a blood-clot, I'd totally have two dollars! Remember this?
Don't worry, it wasn't a blood clot, it was just my leg being pissed at me. They released my muscles, gave me some meds, and sent me home.
Long story short, I'm going to be smarter this time and work up to the Color Run. My rad swag will be great motivation to do so and I can't wait to show off my tee and bottle around the neighborhood.
And of course, I'll be sure to stretch.
*I literally changed it a dozen times, in various ways, and it won't stop doing it. I'm going to stop trying now, or I really will give myself a blood-clot.
This is McKinze. She is a little girl with Leukemia, which led to pneumonia, which led to Aspergillosis and she is fighting for her life.
Healthy McKinze before
McKinze's Aspergillus infection
Her family is searching for an oncologist familiar with Aspergillosis to treat her and I really hope they find one in time.
Here are links to McKinze's sites: www.facebook.com/McKinzesCrusade Twitter: McKinzesCrusade McKinzesCrusade@gmail.com I can't fathom her having to go through what I went through with Aspergillosis, AND she also has pneumonia and Leukemia. This terrible, aggressive disease needs more awareness so we can prevent kids like McKinze getting, and possibly dying from it.
I never thought I'd say this, but I'm running a 5K. Mostly, just because I can. And what better one to do than THIS?
I've been wanting to do a fun run for a while now. I've mentioned it to a few people, but have never acted on it. I'm working on running and am getting much better at it. Lately I've been looking up runs and came across Color Me Rad last week. Then today a friend randomly mentioned that we should do it and I said "Okay, let's do it!" So we are.
And no, I don't think it's insensitive after what happened in Boston yesterday. In fact, I think it's the perfect timing. I will be running for every single person who was affected by that tragedy. I will run it for eight-year-old Martin Richard of Dorchester. I will run it for the children of Sandy Hook. I will run it for every person whose life has been prematurely snuffed out. We owe it to them to live our lives fully and to not cower in fear- you can't let the darkness win.
Just like I still went to see Batman in the theater after Aurora, like I had planned (you can read my thoughts from then here- they still apply). And just like I still took kids out in public after Newton. And how we still went to school after Columbine, and to church after Wedgwood. Life doesn't stand still when bad things happen. Should we remember? Of course. Should we try to make sure things like that don't happen again? Absolutely. Should we live in fear, or react in anger? Hell no.
A terrible tragedy happened yesterday in Boston. I feel that I've been saying that a lot lately... "A terrible tragedy happened in (blank)." We have been reminded so often lately how fragile life is and how with one breath, it can change forever. Things like this shake us to the core. They make us question humanity. They bring up hard issues.
Don't worry, I'm not going to get political right now. I don't think it's the time to do so, regardless of how I feel on many issues. I'm not going to focus on what is wrong, or bad, or ugly about this situation or the world we live in. This isn't the time to blame the economy, or education, or gun control, religion, or lack thereof. In this moment, that won't do a damn thing. Instead, I am going to take a page out of Mister Rogers' book.
Fred Rogers, of 'Mister Rogers' Neighborhood' fame once said, "When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, 'Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.'" - Fred Rogers
Rather than send hatred to those to who harm, I'm going to be a helper. When Carlos Arredondo lost his son to war, he started attending races to hand out American flags. Rather than become bitter from his experience, he used it to offer encouragement to others. Carlos was in Boston on Monday. He saved Jeff Bauman's life, when Jeff lost his legs in the blast and was bleeding out. When tragedy strikes, look for the helpers. When all hope is lost, look for the good. And if you can't find any, create it.
My Mama always tells me "leave a place better than you found it." None of us know when we're going to leave this place, so why waste a second of our time here spreading one iota of bad energy? I'm choosing to cling to the good. I'm not going to be angry, or lose hope, or stop trusting other people. I'm not going to hide away in fear of what bad may fell me. I'm going to spread joy, and laughter, and love, and light, every chance I can. I'm not going to run from life, I'm going to run for it.
"Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that." -Martin Luther King, Jr.
I found an old draft from when I was on steroids that never got posted, so here's a Throwback Thursday.
Dear Medrol-
I want to thank you for making my hair darker, thicker and fuller. And not just on my head, either. My once blonde arm hair is now brown. My leg hair is black and wirey and don't get me started on my armpits. I also now have a happy trail, chest hair, beard, and a unibrow. I'm thinking of moving to France.
I've lost a lot of the muscle mass in my legs and arms, but my lungs are stronger than they've been in quite some time. Who needs physical strength when you can breathe without feeling like you're sucking through a straw and your lungs are comprised of taffy?
With you I could run and jump. You caused me to leap for joy.Well, you made me feel like I could. Now that you're gone, I don't see much value in jumping, because the landing is always devastating. You made me crazy!
I hated you at first and then I grew to appreciate you. Now you're gone and I'm left here to clean up the mess you left. It's like we're in the middle of a messy divorce, and you got the cars, house, boat, and money, while I'm left with the trailer that always smells of fish guts and the truck that can't go faster than 55 without shaking violently and smoking.
Well I have news for you, I can breathe easy now. I don't lose sleep over you anymore. I'm healing.
To my niece, Addy G! A year ago you rocked by world. No literally, the morning you were born, an earthquake originated under my neighborhood to announce your arrival. Not everyone can claim they arrived with a Birthquake, but you have that distinct honor. And you have lived up to that honor, our "Little Bull (In The China Shop)," as your Mommy likes to call you, or "Scrumple," as Geepaw calls you (because you leave a debris field in your wake). You are a force to be reckoned with. You may have gotten your rhythm from your Daddy's side, but you got your coordination from your Mommy's. I'm eager to see how that paradox plays out for you. I see Break Dancing in your future- as in, I see you dancing and breaking things. Or limbs. Probably both. You are ridiculous, and always on the go, and hilarious (I don't know where you got that...). You are stubborn, and opinionated, and too smart for your own good (I don't know where you got that, either). You hate going to sleep because you think you are going to miss something ( I may know a thing or two about that...), but, rest up while you can, little one, for many adventures await you! You and I are going to cause a lot of trouble together, and butt heads, and see whose eyebrow can raise the highest. I'm going to teach you things, and spoil you, and put you in your place. I have many wishes for you, far too many to name, but here are a few.
I wish you enough frustration that you learn patience, but not so much of it that you give up.
I wish you enough disappointment that you learn learn hard work, but not so much that it breaks your spirit.
I wish you enough stumbles that you learn how to pick yourself up, but not so many that you crumple.
I wish you such joy that your heart is full, but no so much that you are unappreciative.
I wish you ample opportunities to achieve your dreams, but not so many that you become complacent.
I wish you laughter to balance out your tears, and faith to battle your fears, and peaches for every pit.
I wish you roses to stop and smell, and mountains to climb, and barriers to break through.
I wish you friends who you can count on, and partners you can trust, and faith in something bigger than yourself.
I wish you strength for the journey, comfort when your path diverts from course, and peace with wherever the road may lead.
I wish you compassion, love, and empathy, both for others and for yourself.
I wish you resourcefulness, street savvy, and book smarts- with them you can accomplish anything.
I wish you silver linings, and second chances, and gratitude- they will bring you hope and happiness.
I wish many things for you, Addy G, but most of all, I wish you as much glee and love as you bring to me.
Happy Birthday, Adelynn Grace. May you embrace life with the same eager hunger that you showed your first cake.
And my prize was torn ligaments in my ankle and a bump on my head! Not the golden goose I've earned in the past, but the most excitement my body has seen in a while, by far.
And roll with it, I shall, while eating my words about being back in a scooter.
