Today, I attempt to vaguely surface from the painful fog of a feverish week. Next steps are difficult. Slowly slowly rebuild and regroup.
I’m as weak as a kitten and must be gentle and patient with myself. Kindly remind me. Sipping diluted apple juice, saltines. This isn’t new.
Since I was a wee babe, dehydration, fevers, and gastro conundrums have confounded me and doctors. There is no diagnosis, just incidents.
The list has grown long: vague memories in Germany alone, Guam’s hospital, Eugene, Mexico with glass IV so many nights writhing. Holding on.
The list of doctors and specialists and tests and scans and samples and processes and surgeries and examinations and medications is lengthy.
Each time, my physical elastic is stretched and dries a little bit more and snapping back to form is more challenging and less satisfying.
I loathe the days lost, heart lost, confidence lost – the experience is painful but the bits I miss might hurt even more. I feel apologetic.
I thrive on enjoying things with others & loathe to see people worry or spread spend precious energy tending to me. Though they don’t mind.
In the feverish flashbacks, I lose track of what was real and what was imagined and which happened before. Did we have that conversation?
My escape: to breathe vicariously through you. Your graduation, your running for mayor, your band’s on tour, you’ve taken a train trip.
For all my adventures, travels, and hijinks, one doubt always nags the back of my head: will I physically collapse for reasons unbeknownst?
Indeed conditions of the erstwhile gastrointestinal tract are not the greatest malady to affect we delicate humans but, i wasn’t asked.
Aside from the opportunity cost of the events I miss, the lost creativity, & distress upon others, I struggle with the blues of being weak.
The next steps never get easy: letting go of the lost past, writing off precious days, and trying to simply stand & remember importantness.
Important: creating stories, sharing with others, reminding people they are loved, letting people go, helping people flourish. Helping me.
My mind and my soul is where my attention goes. My body is a vehicle and, like my beloved VW bus, not always reliable- yet I tend diligently.
Almost 43 years old, I’m an assembly line of careful creation – this is what I live for. I want to do so much more, I have an endless supply.
Yes, I’ve adjusted lifestyles, foods, routines, herbal teas, magic formulas, endless acupuncture, and avoiding toxins & fried foods. Bored.
I even try to “slowdown” but I’m not sure what people do when they “slowdown” – Do they not know the world is waiting for them? Clock ticks.
I have two speeds: quite fast or almost stopped. I go go go because I like to & don’t want to miss life. Sleep has never come easily to me.
Now, here in bed remembering hospitals and clinics, tents & tears, machines whirring, ceiling fans spinning, convulsions and concerns, I try.
But slowing down and taking care of myself doesn’t really seem to make a difference. Is my physiology weak? If so, there’s nothing I can do.
Slowing down means doing less. This sounds very pleasant by some readings but in others, limits what I give. Shall I start to say “no”? No.
Giving my creations, my energy, my enthusiasm, my knowledge is the manna which fortifies me through the high times and the lowest. Makes me.
Shall i be more selective? But I love each chance to share! Shall I expect to receive more for what I give? That’s not my reason for giving.
PS Used to be my social posting barrages came from bus rides but now, from doctors offices #Waiting #healing #Grateful Just so you know…