I promised myself when I started this blog that I would tell the truth. A recent e-mail from a friend underscored the need and made me ooze out of my hole today to do this. I really don't want to, but in the interest of making sure no one thinks I'm better than I am, I find it necessary. I think its important to know two things...hang on.
OK--I'm back. And since I coincidentally have to tell the truth in this entry especially, I went to throw up. Then I had to change my clothes because while I was brushing my teeth, I noticed that I had missed a little and some went down the front of my t-shirt. I had to debate on that one--do I want to try and pull that thing off over my head and hurt or just sponge it off and pretend its not there. Frankly, I would have done the latter, but my husband is home and after all, it is a Holiday. I'm sure he'll thank his ever-so-attractive wife later.
So let's start there. Attractiveness. I'm not. At all. And any illusions I once had--gone. Your family and friends will tell you how beautiful you are and that the mirror isn't accurate. True story--my husband tells me this all the time. God bless this man. Anyway, you know that's not true because you can see for yourself and because people who don't know you well, or at all, tell you. Really--in the grocery check-out, at church, at the school. Once at the check out, I was making what I thought was a great imitation of a person who was "normal" and smiling and joking with the employee. When we were leaving, she said "I sure hope you feel better soon!" What? This how you know. While its not a big deal that I don't look like Isabella Rosselini (look her up--drop dead gorgeous), it kinda is a big deal to me that I don't have anything left. I still look like I have two black eyes. My face is still puffy and blotchy. I still have to wear long sleeves everywhere I go because I have bruises on my arms and legs. And I still clean out blobs of hair from the shower drain. I shouldn't complain because I'm not bald yet and I have a friend fighting cancer who is. But see--I'm still human and still selfish. This morning I tried to make my hair look ok, but I just can't spread the hair over the bald spots on the right anymore. And the gray streaks are making it even worse. But who has money for a hair cut and color when you're dumping every spare dime into meds, doctors, and vitamins and supplements? If I had the money, I'd be buying myself an iPad first. I'm not complaining about the money--but its a universal truth that those with chronic medical care are broke. Even if you have health insurance (which I don't because no one will touch me), there are so very many untold costs associated with chronic illness, and the costs aren't just financial. They're emotional, spiritual, family, financial, social...no sense in making lists under each category.
The next truth is that I am an emotional roller coaster and while I wrote about that earlier, I can't seem to get off right now. Last week I just felt so up. I was so emotionally positive. I felt like I was finally taking control and then one morning, I woke up and my brain was back on. It was GREAT! Unfortunately, along with that, my dormant snark gene came to life, too and I think that perhaps my family is wishing it would turn itself off. For example--I live "tweeted" the end of the year awards ceremony for my son's class--just in case someone I know reads this, I will refrain from sharing. It was one of three things I did last week. I also sent text messages to a friend I knew was out of town. Here are the texts--her responses are in parentheses.
I'm in your house--STALKING!
(Hilarious!)
Yeah, where's the chocolate and bubble bath?
(You lovin' my tub?!!)
I would be, but I dropped this big thing with an apple on it in there and now it looks like a jacuzzi but I haven't turned on the power yet.
(R U messing with me?)
Give me a sec...I can't find your robe.
Does your refrigerator usually smoke?
(I'm with [husband] and he said No!)
Oh. No worries. We found the fire extinguisher.
(Tell me if your messing with me 'cause I'm totally crying and stressing out.)
No you aren't! You're messing with me! Where's the best place for the keg? The neighbors want to know.
Oh wait. Not neighbors. Followed us here from the dumpster behind HEB. My bad!!
We got your back. We moved the house number to the neighbors until you have time to file a home owners insurance claim. (The house is for sale.)
Its all good! Thanks for the hospitality!
Really? Was this helpful to her? I decided I didn't have much more to do than to mess with people's minds. This is not pretty. I was more snarky about a few other things, but they're PG-13, so I can't really share that.
On Friday I couldn't get out of bed. Saturday was worse. By then my lungs were involved and I had a cough plus they felt like they were on fire. Lungs are nothing to mess with when your life revolves around MCTD. The end result of my day was being alone in my room, screaming at the doctor and using a swear word combo I have never used before to describe her IQ. I'd admit to the word, but I think my kids might read this.
Depression sets in, then. Like it never left.
Yesterday, there was my beautiful sister's blog showing pictures of her with her son at graduation, with him being ordained an Elder (a position in our church) and her grandkids next to her. I cried. I wondered if her kids knew how special that was? Did they all appreciate the time together, the blessings they receive by the gift they have of a mother like her? I'm sure they do because they are already like that. And part of me, truth be told, is just plain jealous.
So there you have it. I'm no saint. I'm not even good most of the time. I think I'm supposed to learn that from this and I am not doing a smash up job. So yesterday I was determined to go to at least part of church so I could take the Sacrament. I slimed out of bed and stood there looking at myself in the mirror. Remember the beginning of my blog? How much courage did I have today? I turned around and in my closet was hanging my old red purse. I wear and accessorize with black, navy, olive green, white. Boring, boring, boring. But I love that purse because it's loud and bright and it makes me smile. So I dumped my stuff out of the old brown one and went dressed in black, with my red purse. I still had a few people tell me how terrible I looked. And I came home early. But I set my red purse on the red table in the entry where I can see it.
OK--I'm back. And since I coincidentally have to tell the truth in this entry especially, I went to throw up. Then I had to change my clothes because while I was brushing my teeth, I noticed that I had missed a little and some went down the front of my t-shirt. I had to debate on that one--do I want to try and pull that thing off over my head and hurt or just sponge it off and pretend its not there. Frankly, I would have done the latter, but my husband is home and after all, it is a Holiday. I'm sure he'll thank his ever-so-attractive wife later.
So let's start there. Attractiveness. I'm not. At all. And any illusions I once had--gone. Your family and friends will tell you how beautiful you are and that the mirror isn't accurate. True story--my husband tells me this all the time. God bless this man. Anyway, you know that's not true because you can see for yourself and because people who don't know you well, or at all, tell you. Really--in the grocery check-out, at church, at the school. Once at the check out, I was making what I thought was a great imitation of a person who was "normal" and smiling and joking with the employee. When we were leaving, she said "I sure hope you feel better soon!" What? This how you know. While its not a big deal that I don't look like Isabella Rosselini (look her up--drop dead gorgeous), it kinda is a big deal to me that I don't have anything left. I still look like I have two black eyes. My face is still puffy and blotchy. I still have to wear long sleeves everywhere I go because I have bruises on my arms and legs. And I still clean out blobs of hair from the shower drain. I shouldn't complain because I'm not bald yet and I have a friend fighting cancer who is. But see--I'm still human and still selfish. This morning I tried to make my hair look ok, but I just can't spread the hair over the bald spots on the right anymore. And the gray streaks are making it even worse. But who has money for a hair cut and color when you're dumping every spare dime into meds, doctors, and vitamins and supplements? If I had the money, I'd be buying myself an iPad first. I'm not complaining about the money--but its a universal truth that those with chronic medical care are broke. Even if you have health insurance (which I don't because no one will touch me), there are so very many untold costs associated with chronic illness, and the costs aren't just financial. They're emotional, spiritual, family, financial, social...no sense in making lists under each category.
The next truth is that I am an emotional roller coaster and while I wrote about that earlier, I can't seem to get off right now. Last week I just felt so up. I was so emotionally positive. I felt like I was finally taking control and then one morning, I woke up and my brain was back on. It was GREAT! Unfortunately, along with that, my dormant snark gene came to life, too and I think that perhaps my family is wishing it would turn itself off. For example--I live "tweeted" the end of the year awards ceremony for my son's class--just in case someone I know reads this, I will refrain from sharing. It was one of three things I did last week. I also sent text messages to a friend I knew was out of town. Here are the texts--her responses are in parentheses.
I'm in your house--STALKING!
(Hilarious!)
Yeah, where's the chocolate and bubble bath?
(You lovin' my tub?!!)
I would be, but I dropped this big thing with an apple on it in there and now it looks like a jacuzzi but I haven't turned on the power yet.
(R U messing with me?)
Give me a sec...I can't find your robe.
Does your refrigerator usually smoke?
(I'm with [husband] and he said No!)
Oh. No worries. We found the fire extinguisher.
(Tell me if your messing with me 'cause I'm totally crying and stressing out.)
No you aren't! You're messing with me! Where's the best place for the keg? The neighbors want to know.
Oh wait. Not neighbors. Followed us here from the dumpster behind HEB. My bad!!
We got your back. We moved the house number to the neighbors until you have time to file a home owners insurance claim. (The house is for sale.)
Its all good! Thanks for the hospitality!
Really? Was this helpful to her? I decided I didn't have much more to do than to mess with people's minds. This is not pretty. I was more snarky about a few other things, but they're PG-13, so I can't really share that.
On Friday I couldn't get out of bed. Saturday was worse. By then my lungs were involved and I had a cough plus they felt like they were on fire. Lungs are nothing to mess with when your life revolves around MCTD. The end result of my day was being alone in my room, screaming at the doctor and using a swear word combo I have never used before to describe her IQ. I'd admit to the word, but I think my kids might read this.
Depression sets in, then. Like it never left.
Yesterday, there was my beautiful sister's blog showing pictures of her with her son at graduation, with him being ordained an Elder (a position in our church) and her grandkids next to her. I cried. I wondered if her kids knew how special that was? Did they all appreciate the time together, the blessings they receive by the gift they have of a mother like her? I'm sure they do because they are already like that. And part of me, truth be told, is just plain jealous.
So there you have it. I'm no saint. I'm not even good most of the time. I think I'm supposed to learn that from this and I am not doing a smash up job. So yesterday I was determined to go to at least part of church so I could take the Sacrament. I slimed out of bed and stood there looking at myself in the mirror. Remember the beginning of my blog? How much courage did I have today? I turned around and in my closet was hanging my old red purse. I wear and accessorize with black, navy, olive green, white. Boring, boring, boring. But I love that purse because it's loud and bright and it makes me smile. So I dumped my stuff out of the old brown one and went dressed in black, with my red purse. I still had a few people tell me how terrible I looked. And I came home early. But I set my red purse on the red table in the entry where I can see it.
Yeah. I'm tired of going to church feeling ugly. I'm tired of feeling ugly. I'm vain. I know this.
ReplyDeleteI can pretty much relate to pretty close to everything you posted here. It's so hard Leanna. I don't have any fabulous words of wisdom. The only thing I have to offer is I understand. I really do and I know that even better, our Savior understands and knows EXACTLY how you are feeling and what you are going through.
I have stenciled above my bed so I can see it every morning when I wake up "Come, what may and love it". Some days are easier than others....
My heart breaks for you...... but our Father when we ask Him for bread will not give us a serpent so I know that these things we are going through...... are the bread of life and are truly good for us. Trust in Him. I'm trying... as I said, some days, easier than others....
Love you much!!
Rachel
P.S. I'm having to post Anonymous because if I try my google account, it won't let me post a comment! GRRR!
Maybe its my settings. I don't know. But since this is open all over to the public so that others will find it, I didn't want the crazies (us excepted, of course) to be able to post. So all comments come to me to be moderated. But I am not familiar enough with blogger to know whether or not my settings are what's causing this.
ReplyDeleteAs for the other. I need to get that saying in those stick on letters. I try to remember that.
I live by Elder Wirthlins words "come, what may and love it". Especially when I muck up things and feel sorry for myself when trying to take care of things from a wheelchair. - It's a good thing I don't feel sorry for myself very often. I am my own worst comp. But I have come to accept my limitations, hard but I have. So, come, what may and love it. I just want to post this and this crazy will post out. Take care.
ReplyDeleteI have a pair, okay maybe more than one pair of shoes that are my "red purse". I wear them and feel lots better. As long as I don't think about it too much. ;-)
ReplyDeleteWhat became of you? Where are you in life and disease? These posts say 2011. I have to say your posts rang true and touched me deeply. I'm also LDS. After living ( if you can call it living) with horrible unrelenting illness, I finally have some answers. I will see a rhuematologist to go over my testing results on Tuesday. I would love to have more contact with others who have to shoulder the trials of living with Autoimmune diseases.
ReplyDeletePlease please update your blog.