Cause That's Where a Ranger's Gonna Be!

Don't bother asking me how my vacation went, because I have no idea. I slept through most of it. And no, I didn't spend too much time at happy hour or getting my benzos on. 14 days later and about 12-14 pounds lighter I'm barely coming up to breathe again. But don't worry Los Angeles, I still love you.

Though I managed to get a viewing of Inception in first, I came THIS close to having to get my tonsils out earlier this week, as my Armenian doctor scowled down at my throat and barked about how bad it looked. Lucky for me though, somehow the new antibiotic she gave me started to work--apparently against all odds--and my dreaded tonsilectemy could wait a few more weeks/months (depending on how much I was willing to hedge my bets). Finally this unrelenting bacteria infection in my tonsils showed us a peek of its achilles heel, and I collasped on my bed at my cousins' house with relief. And didn't move. For about another 6 days.

The thing about being sick is, you wanna have good people and things around you. Now, I am on my paid vacation currently in LA, staying with family. My parents happen to be out here right now as well. Does it suck being bedridden on vacation in your favorite place that you waiting all year for? Definitely. Would it be way more awesome if I wasn't sitting at home typing this as the rest of my family went out to the cheesecake factory at the Americana? Yup! Would I rather be anywhere else right now? No way. My cousin is like my big sister, and doesn't get grossed out by all my weird symptoms and selflessly drives me to the doctors everyday and picks up what I need. My parents have come over several times to bring me more things, including flowers!! :) and helped me push back my ticket so I can fly home with them this wednesday on a direct flight instead of tomorrow. I'm in my most favorite city in a beautiful house with my own room that leads onto a roof terrace.

Basically what I've concluded is: I'm gonna be a zombie, I'd rather be one in LA.

So admist all fatigue, pain, and disappointment of a vacation that ended up being not at all what was planned, I'm now sitting up, drinking sprite, blogging (less than a year later yay!!) and loving the view of palm trees outside my window. This time has been like a strange dejavu to when I got REALLY sick a little less than a year ago at thanksgiving. Well, God, I'm still a very thankful woman. Probably a lot more because of the rough times such as these. If it weren't for them I'd see You very differently (and shallowly) and my heart would be much heavier.

And for those of you that got the random Walker Texas Ranger theme song lyrics texts the past few days, I do not apologize.

Participation in Suffering

It's hard to believe that a little over a month ago I actually wanted to go to the hospital.

Most people didn't know, but I was so sick: in the middle of a really bad 2 month flare-up from my seemingly-until-now nonexistent crohn's disease, an inflammatory bowel condition that can present like a stubborn intestinal virus w/ cramps --or worse. For me, it had been absent for 2 and half years, until early October 09. Things had been worsening and after two trips to the ER in one week where I was given morphine iv's and tests were run, I felt like I just needed around the clock, immediate professional care.

Little did I know.

Hospitals are so necessary, but so horrible. First there was the IV fiasco --it took 3 nurses and six tries to stick me with an IV successfully without the vein blowing or just being able to SEE a vein. I was so dehydrated and I tend to be a hard stick to begin with so that didn't help. After all that, I spent the remainder of my 4 day stay being paranoid about my IV not getting messed up so as not to have to be re-stuck and go through that again. Which it did and which I did, but that's another story.

Then came the revelation that being in a hospital is like doing Extra work on a film: it's a lot of hurry up and wait. Waiting for the MRI people to come get you, waiting for test results, waiting to find out when your surgery will happen. And perhaps worst of all (actually, this might be tied with the IV thing), was not being allowed to eat or drink virtually anything for almost 3 days. Now of course I was on IV fluids so I was well hydrated, but as they say, "ain't nothin' like the real thing, baby." YA HARAM!

On Thanksgiving Day, November 26, 2009, I was released to go home. I said a warm farewell to my funny roommate Flora, and had a peaceful car ride back with my mom as I took in the last of the fall colors on the trees. The sky was a clear blue that day and the air outside was not yet frigid.

Today, a little over a month later, I am about 90% back to normal. It took me awhile to get my strength back and though I've mostly been fine and symptom free, some of my symptoms have crept back again over the past few days which has honestly been frustrating and a little scary. I am so scared of going through that pain that I experienced again. And I might. We don't know what tomorrow will bring. But we do know that we are guarranteed to have pain and suffering in this life and it comes in different forms for different people. For me, this was an entirely new experience. I was so helpless and listless at times; I needed my mom to be right by me in the hospital the whole time, helping me do things that she hasn't had to help me with since I was a little kid. It was crazy humbling.

About a week and a half after getting out of the hospital I started my new and first job out of grad school as an outpatient marriage and family therapist at a clinic in Burlington County, NJ. I was so worried I wouldn't recover in time but I did. As I finish up my training and prepare to start seeing clients in the coming weeks, I'm thinking about my last few months and I realize something good that will come out of the pain. I know I will be able to empathize and understand in a much deeper and genuine way when I have clients who are dealing with the burden of physical pain and illness. Before this experience, I didn't really get it. I didn't realize the way your physical troubles can be so hindering and paralyzing when it comes to daily functioning and well-being. Now I get it because I've been there.

This brings a newer and deeper meaning of the word 'compassion' for me, a word that I've always held very near and dear --quick to retrieve as an adjective when asked to think of ones that describe myself. It's been said that Compassion actually means "suffering together with another; participation in suffering" as the original meaning of the word 'Passion' is "suffering", referring to Christ's suffering on the cross. The Latin roots of the word 'Compassion' being 'pati', (again: meaning 'to suffer') and 'comp' meaning 'with', which leads us to the "suffering with another".

This kind of compassion may be the best-equipped though it is not the kind you want to wish for necessarily. But it's what I've been given. It's another way that I'm looking for the burdens to become blessings, for the Beauty from ashes.

In Sickness and In Health.

For the past few days, I've been sick mostly at home with some sort of sinus infection, accompanied by a stubborn fever that won't seem to leave. Last night it kept me up until nearly 5am.. my body was hot and cold at the same time, and my head throbbed. Finally I got up and had a snack consisting of the closest, easiest thing I could grab: four slices of bread and butter with water. Half-awake, I tried to watch an episode of 'Flight of the Conchords', a short-lived TV series that enough people recommended to me to get my attention! and that it most certainly did. finally, my fever seemed to cool down a little and eventually I drifted off to sleep. I have enough nightmares as it is, but let me tell you, fever dreams are much worse! Think Tom Cruise on the loose, trying to take over the world, and my family specifically, with his Scientology cloning and aliens and general mayhem. that has GOT to stop!

I've been getting really antsy being trapped in this quiet apartment for a few days and basically just laying around since I've been not feeling well. Thankfully, I had to go meet my old supervisor this afternoon a few blocks away, which gave me an excuse to get dressed and get out for a bit. On my way back, I decided to see if a slurpee might help cool down my slight fever I had going on. While walking by LOVE park on the way back to my dorm, I saw that a small, but passionate protest was going on in front of one of the city govt. buildings where DHS (dept. of human services) is housed.

For those of you not in the philly area, I'll update you. A news story broke about a week ago regarding a 14 year old disabled girl, Danieal (pronounced Danielle) Kelly [pictured above], who starved to death in her home during an August 2006 heat wave. Under the care of both her parents and DHS, she was still neglected (why doesn't really matter in my opinion) and died. Nine people were charged following her death, including her parents, friends of the mother, and 2 DHS social workers.

I'm unsure of whether this story made national headlines (I doubt it), but DHS is an agency that at times I interface with since I also work in the mental health field as an MFT intern... so I decided to stop and listen for awhile. Various people took turns speaking into the megaphone thing, and about 10 camera crew people filmed and snapped pictures. Others took notes. They called for justice and reform and change. They pleaded with the public to not sit by any longer, but to use their voices in protest. One lady read a wonderful poem illustrating this point.

A little while later while walking home, I thought of the words of the Mayor from a meeting he held a few days ago. Addressing Danieal Kelly directly he said: "As a city government, we have failed you." He's right, and its utterly tragic.

As for the where's, why's, who's, how's etc, I don't know how this case slipped through the cracks or how anyone could be so careless. But I do know that this is not how it's supposed to be. This is nothing remotely close to the treatment people should receive from social services or in the mental health field. We are all to be held to a much higher standard than this. I personally want to voice my disgust over this whole situation...it still makes me shudder just thinking about it.

I know that I didn't know this little girl personally, but I see kids like her, who are neglected or mistreated, frequently in my line of work, and feel all the more compelled to NOT fail them or let them down. If we as professionals cannot get them what they need, then we need to get them to someone who can. I feel this applies to the larger community as well...neighbors, friends, relatives, everyone, and anyone.

So as I rest here in my apartment wishing my fever would go away and my head would stop aching, the temporary discomfort I feel seems to go a little bit numb while I think about these things. People deserve the best possible care because each one, each child especially, is precious and honored in His sight. Each one is worthy of our promise to stand by them in sickness and in health. If we can't do this for our spouses (and this is not to let anyone off the hook there either!), let's at least do it for the kids.

Dreams are bad?

Although I have a multitude of things to write home about and share updates on, we will save some of that for another day. For now, I draw the attention to the topic of DREAMS.

the nightly type.

for me, they've always been a big deal.

I seem to forever be at one extreme end or the other with them...I have great ones, or horrible ones. unfortunately I've had much more of the latter lately, and that's been going on for the past couple of years. it's gotten to the point where I've forgotten that it's normal to NOT have intense, unsettling dreams and or nightmares every night. Its NOT normal to continually have dreams about tornados or things that we don't want to describe chasing you and trying to hunt you down.

Usually during these regular nocturnal episodes, I experience really intense feelings resulting from whatever ficticious events my subconscious happens to be generating, and because it all feels so intricately real, they tend to linger around me throughout the rest of the day. Fantasy, without asking first, invades reality (well, MY reality).

I was thinking about it today, and find it strange how our dreams can make us feel powerful emotions that we don't happen to be feeling at the time in our day-to-day comings and goings. It can stimulate parts of our brain and limbic system all because of things going on in the internal psyche. [I'm not making any sense, am I]....anyway, I still find this fascinating. but it leaves me only asking more questions... what's behind our dreams? God? the television? bad spirits? unresolved conflict? or simply a way in which we are whispering into our own ears?

I do have someone (actually a few people) that I talk to about dreams from time to time, and I try to do other helpful things to clear my mind before I go to sleep at night. So far it hasn't seemed to make a whole lot of difference. It just feels out of my control.

It's 12:29am and although I am nowhere near jumping into bed, still I wonder where I will be taken tonight?